Shunt

by Tom Rubython

  After all that, Mayer was relieved when the flight was called and they hopped on the transit bus headed for the silver and red Boeing 747.

  The JAL Jumbo’s captain greeted Hunt personally at the top of the aircraft steps and motioned him into the first class cabin. But Hunt wanted to be with his friends and the mechanics, and took a seat in the economy class cabin. The captain said he would keep his first class seat free and asked him to join them for dinner. In those days, Hunt always travelled economy and it didn’t occur to him to book himself into the first class cabin, although by then he could easily afford it. He tended to be anaesthetised on flights by alcohol, so he had little need for any pampering. As long as the drink flowed, which it did in those days in the economy cabin, he was happy. Daily Express motoring editor David Benson plopped himself into the seat next to Hunt’s in first class. Benson, after covering the race, had been about to leave Tokyo and fly to Hong Kong for a holiday when his news desk ordered him onto the plane at the last minute.

  As Hunt entered the cabin, a huge cheer went up.

  But within a few hours, the drink ran out – such was the demand from the Formula One people on the plane. Hunt had to go into first class for top-up supplies. The Japanese captain had ordered his crew to let the champion do what he wanted, and so they obliged his every wish.

  In the end, as the lights in the cabin were dimmed and everyone fell asleep, completely exhausted by the non-stop drinking which had, by then, stretched out for nearly 48 hours. Hunt then went up into the first class cabin to take a seat reserved for him for dinner.

  He sat next to Benson, who was now very glad he had changed his flight to Hong Kong to accompany the new world champion home. Benson was by far the most skilled reporter of his day, and definitely Hunt’s favourite journalist. He knew all the top Formula One drivers personally and had stayed at their homes, enjoying time with their families. And, in those days, the Daily Express was the top British newspaper, with the Daily Mail then a distant second. Just as he had during his flight with Niki Lauda a few months earlier, Benson got a good exclusive that night. The captain came by to chat about the race, and the crew served them a special dinner of shrimps to start, followed by chicken princess with duchess potatoes. Hunt alternatively slurped beer and red wine with his meal as the stewardesses danced up and down the aisle with constant refills of both glasses. Hunt told Benson that he was looking forward to getting home to see his dog Oscar, and that he was going to thank Lord Hesketh personally for what he had done for his career.

  After they had feasted Hunt got to his feet and did some slapstick comedy routines for Benson and the other first class passengers as the Boeing started to make its descent into Anchorage airport for refuelling. The captain let Hunt make the announcement that the plane was beginning its descent and Hunt put on the best Japanese accent he could muster.

  In those days, the Boeing 747 100 series had nowhere near enough fuel capacity to make it in one hop from Asia to Europe so a mid flight stop was necessary.

  When they took off again, Hunt went into the back of the plane to speak with Max Mosley. He and Mosley looked for free seats so they could stretch out. Later, he went back to his seat and David Phipps took a photograph of Hunt seated next to his best friend, Chris Jones, asleep. The Phipps photograph caught everyone’s imagination and Jones achieved his 60 seconds of fame when the photo was published around the world.

  Barry Sheene and Pam Rowe, the photographer, had cuddled up together and gone to sleep and earlier Sheene had been trying to persuade her of the merits of joining the mile-high club.

  Hogan remembers: “It wasn’t an outrageous flight and everybody was just very, very happy.”

  As the plane descended into Heathrow, Hunt woke up with the worst hangover of his life, but he had no regrets about what had happened – although, indeed, it took him a long time to remember what had happened.

  When the plane landed at around 9 o’clock in the morning, Hunt emerged from the Boeing 747 blinking and carrying his toy gorilla. A posse of photographers ambushed him at the foot of the Boeing’s steps. British Airports Authority staff whisked everyone through the VIP disembarkation exit. And they had good reason, as a huge crowd of fans had gathered outside the customs hall. Hunt was greeted by more than 2,000 people waiting to welcome home their champion. The reception was on an even grander scale than when The Beatles had returned from America in 1963.

  Amongst the 2,000 fans were his mother and father, Wallis and Sue. As they were publicly reunited, all three of them were embarrassed as the flashbulbs went off. After hugging his mother, he hugged Jane Birbeck, now seemingly his official girlfriend. It was a surreal experience, as Hunt recalled: “I hadn’t expected my family to be there and it was the most unnerving thing to have to say ‘hello’ to them in front of all those people. It was all quite overwhelming.” Sue Hunt slightly lost the plot and was totally out of her comfort zone. The adulation for her son was something completely new to her, and not something she particularly cared for. She came from the real world, and this was far from real. Hunt remembered: “It was a bit of a heavy deal, with mother freaking out and everything – that’s what really threw me.”

  As Sue hugged and kissed her son, it was all broadcast on television. To an ITN news crew, she said: “He’s done it. He’s done it. I’m elated, absolutely elated. It’s magnificent.” Then she added: “He may be the world champion but he hasn’t changed. He’s still my naughty James.” Indeed, he was.

  Sue Hunt couldn’t help recalling all those moments in the garage with the Mini, the difficult conversations with his father and the written off minivan and Fiat 500. She was baffled that the son whom they had almost written off was suddenly the most famous sportsman in the world. She couldn’t quite connect the two scenarios, and she felt as if it was all happening to somebody else.

  The normally reserved and cautious Hunts had thrown caution to the wind and had decorated their house in Belmont in a gaudy display of union jacks and other patriotic embellishments. It was entirely out of character, but Wallis and Sue just couldn’t help being caught up in the emotion of it all. For both of them, it brought back patriotic war memories, and it was the Brits against the Huns all over again; notwithstanding that Lauda was Austrian. Few people in Britain made the distinction. But, as in 1945, the right side had won and, for Wallis Hunt in particular, still carrying with him the legacy of his wounds from 33 years before, that made his son a real hero.

  A press conference followed, and this time Hunt couldn’t quite believe what was happening. His mother and father sat beside him as literally hundreds of journalists looked on and lights flashed in front of then. He thought he might have been dreaming, as he said: “In most situations I feel in control, but, when I get out of control, I’m not sure whether I’m doing or saying the right thing – not because of what people want to hear so much as the difficulty of what I want to say to them.”

  After the press conference, ITV’s news service, ITN, got lucky and managed to get an exclusive with Hunt and the Hunt family in those few hours when everyone wanted access to them. That was because of Mary Richardson, who worked for ITN. She was the wife of John Richardson, one of Hunt’s three closest friends. She had invited Wallis and Sue to watch the race live at ITN’s studios in London. They had eagerly accepted the offer as it was by no means certain that BBC would stay with the race live for its duration, and they wanted to see what transpired, good or bad. So ITN effectively owned the parents and, with the parents, came the son.

  Richardson took charge of Hunt, and he travelled back into London in an ITN car. They were headed for a champagne breakfast laid on for him at Jane Birbeck’s flat in London. She was sharing a plush apartment with her sister and her brother in law, and it was Richardson who suggested they go there first.

  ITN was filming all the way and, thanks to Richardson, had by far the best coverage. Hunt just went along with it, much to the annoyance of rival networks, especially the BBC, which had to take ITN�
��s dregs that day. The BBC was particularly galled because it thought it owned Formula One. It had supported F1 through all the dark days when no one was interested. Now, on the day that everyone was captivated, it had lost out to its rival.

  The car trip with John and Mary Richardson became a high speed chase, as jealous journalists and photographers, many of them on motorcycles, pursued the ITN car.

  When they finally arrived at Birbeck’s flat, Hunt longed for some peace and quiet. Richardson recalls: “James was completely tired, but still on an adrenaline high and very happy. We barged through all the reporters and got inside the flat and opened the champagne. The enormity of what he had achieved still hadn’t hit him.” Richardson remembers: “He had gone out and proven he was the best in the world in his chosen sport, but yet he came back and all he wanted to do was sit down and have a drink and a bit of a smoke with his mates.”

  The Hunt family and the Richardsons had breakfast whilst Hunt brought them up to date with all the events of the previous weekend. Around lunch, he went off to the bedroom with Jane, and everyone else left to give him some peace and quiet. He went straight to sleep for eight hours. When he woke, the two went out for dinner.

  The Hunts went home to Belmont and the Richardsons split up, with Mary going to the ITN studios to prepare the exclusive footage she had shot that day for the evening news. ITN made a fortune that day syndicating the footage all over the world.

  On Wednesday morning, Hunt went to his brother’s offices to discuss the multitude of offers that had landed on his desk in the few days since he had won the championship. In the afternoon, John Hogan had him at work giving interviews to favoured journalists and broadcasters.

  With that over, James was free to return to Spain for a long weekend and was booked on the 9 o’clock flight that Thursday evening. Inevitably, he was running late but Iberia, the Spanish airline, decided to hold the flight for the new world champion. Hunt found everything was different being world champion. As it happened, the McDonnell-Douglas DC9 was almost completely empty: with only Hunt, two journalists and three other passengers in an aircraft that could seat 250.

  The flight was due to land at 1am at Malaga airport. Despite that, it seemed that every British expatriate living in the area had decided to welcome him back at the airport. A huge crowd, led by his immediate neighbours, greeted him with champagne at the exit of the customs hall and there was an impromptu party in the airport.

  The drive to his house took an hour. When he got there, more neighbours and expats he didn’t know were inside, having set up another party. Hunt, by now refreshed and wide awake, loved it and didn’t go to bed until well after 8 o’clock on Friday evening.

  Later that morning, his friends from home arrived. John and Mary Richardson, Chris and Suzy Jones, and Malcolm and Frances Wood all flew into Marbella airport that Friday morning. It had been a long planned weekend, win or lose the championship. That weekend was the last one he would have for himself until Christmas.

  James Hunt was now public property, or at least he was Marlboro’s property. And he didn’t seem to mind. As his daily pay rate from Marlboro was over US$3,500 a day, he was ready for as many days as Philip Morris wanted to pay him for. Hogan says now: “I must say I was in total admiration. Philip Morris had this and this organised for him, and James’ feet didn’t touch the ground for a whole month. He behaved impeccably throughout and was a very good boy.”

  Hogan stage managed the whole of the next month for the benefit of the world’s media. The value to the cigarette company of those few weeks was immeasurable. It received publicity that was probably worth US$500 million, dwarfing the money it had actually spent that season.

  Hogan remembers: “We went off on a whirlwind tour of Europe, and in those days there used to be a lot of car shows at the end of the season. We bounced around all the car shows.”

  Hunt’s first official assignment was at the London Motor Show at Earls Court, where he was mobbed by his British fans. Then he flew to Cologne for another car show and then back to Britain for a rendezvous with his fans.

  At Brands Hatch, Hogan and John Webb got together and organised a celebratory binge for fans at an event Webb called a ‘Tribute to James’ day. Over 15,000 fans turned up to celebrate with their world champion. Hogan also ordered Niki Lauda to fly in. The meeting of the two rivals on friendlier terms sparked acres of newspaper coverage around the world, not to mention hours upon hours of TV coverage, especially in mainland Europe. Hogan was doing it for the publicity, and Webb was turning a nice profit.

  Rather predictably, the animosity between Webb and Hunt flared up again, and Hunt ended up in the Brands Hatch kitchens instead of being guest of honour in the hospitality suite.

  Angela Webb had offered him a suite to entertain his guests for lunch alongside suites where circuit sponsors were also being entertained. Hunt was issued with a certain amount of tickets. But the trouble started when he filled his suite with twice as many guests as had tickets. It was full and guests were still arriving when Webb called a halt. The trouble began when Jane Birbeck’s sister could not gain admittance after the doorman refused her entry on Angela Webb’s orders. Hunt was called over and grabbed ‘Vic the doorman’ by his lapels and said: “Let her in, you fucking little man.” The doorman told Hunt: “I’m under instructions from Mrs Webb not to let anybody else in.”

  Hunt then shook the doorman and lifted him off the floor by his lapels. Sensing trouble, Webb relented and the rest of Hunt’s ticketless guests were admitted. But the suite was so full that Hunt asked Angela Webb whether there was anywhere he could have his lunch in peace and she led him down to the Brands Hatch kitchens. Hunt said to her on the way down: “The pigs outside were better behaved than the pigs upstairs.” Webb replied: “And whose fault is that James?” She also berated him for his attack on Vic the doorman and insisted he apologise to him personally. Hunt later apologised to Vic but not to Webb nor his wife Angela, who he believed had started the trouble.

  At a press conference later, John Webb told journalists he never rated Hunt, saying: “He was really abusive to Brands Hatch staff and caused an awful lot of problems. The fact that he became world champion was, I think, more luck than ability.” But after his tribute day, Hunt went around to the marshall’s posts that are situated all around the circuit and said ‘thank you’ to everyone. And Angela Webb, in turn, thanked him.

  The next day, all the newspapers picked up the story and, for a brief moment in time, ‘Vic the doorman’ achieved national fame and his views were quoted everywhere.

  Hunt didn’t care what Webb or the newspapers thought, and carried on with his European tour. Next he was fêted by the city of London. His father used his connections and he was made a ‘Freeman of the City of London.’ The honour was conferred upon him and the chain of office put round his neck in the presence of a beaming Wallis Hunt.

  Then he was off to Lausanne to the Philip Morris International offices, where PMI executives thanked him profusely for his contribution to its bottom line. And he was honoured in Switzerland by the Lausanne local authority who felt he was one of their own.

  The following evening it was back to London, where Hogan threw an exclusive party for McLaren employees. Patty McLaren, Bruce’s widow, was guest of honour.

  After a fortnight, Hogan relaxed his grip just for a day and allowed Hunt to go to the huge General Motors factory in Luton, Bedfordshire. The sprawling plant made Vauxhall cars and Bedford trucks and employed thousands of people. Hunt went for a lap of honour around the site on a Bedford flat truck, as if he had just won a race. He then formally launched an advertising campaign that had been built for him, with the catchline: “Take my advice. Test drive a Vauxhall.” As a result of that campaign, Vauxhall sold many cars in the last quarter of 1976.

  Whilst Hunt was in London, Marlboro arranged to sponsor a party to celebrate the fifth anniversary of the opening of the Ladbroke Club casino in London’s Mayfair. Richard Burton was a member of the
club, and turned up with Suzy. By now, Hunt and Burton had become good friends. But, despite the presence of two of the most famous people in the world, it was Suzy who attracted the most media attention and was asked for the most autographs. Neither man was surprised, and gave each other knowing looks. They had long become accustomed to being overshadowed by their beguiling wife.

  After that, at the request of Bernie Ecclestone, Hunt flew to Linz in Austria to open the Jochen Rindt Racing Car Show. Hogan didn’t mind, as it was an excuse for a huge round of promotional events in Austria, Lauda’s home country. The crowds were enormous outside every venue, and Austrian newspapers carried little else but news of Hunt’s visit to their country. Lauda was sat at home recuperating after his eye operation and not particularly enjoying reading wall to wall coverage about his rival everyday in Austria’s newspapers.

  From Austria, he flew to Switzerland for a few days in Geneva for Philip Morris parties and receptions. Geneva was a good place for the international media to gather, and Hunt did scores of one-to-one interviews for newspapers and magazines spread over several days.