by Tom Rubython
Hamlyn contacted Eoin Young, then arguably Formula One’s top journalist, to be Hunt’s ghostwriter. Young was a New Zealander who had come to Britain with Bruce McLaren and worked for him in his start-up motor racing team. When McLaren was killed in 1970, Young had written the seminal book on him, and it had been acclaimed everywhere. Every self-respecting motor racing fan had it in their bookcase. Hunt was attracted to Young because he had been one of the original founders of the McLaren team. But that fact also made Hunt unattractive to Young, as he told Hunt’s biographer Christopher Hilton: “I had been with Bruce when we started the McLaren team, and I didn’t think James and his public school behaviour would have found favour with Bruce. I regarded his off-track indolence as a disservice to sport – no class.”
Years later, Young confessed he had never wanted to do the book at all for the simple reason that he “didn’t like James Hunt.” Young said: “I thought he was obnoxious – a pop star in a professional sport that perhaps still regarded itself as amateur.” He added: “I was somewhat surprised when I was invited to write the book.”
But the more Young resisted Hunt’s blandishments, the more Hunt wanted him. Young was finally signed to do it for a fee of around UK£5,000. He was assisted by Maurice Hamilton, an Irish journalist, who later became a very gifted radio commentator. For his own reasons, Hamilton disliked Hunt even more than Young.
Hamlyn left it to Young to deal with Peter Hunt, who controlled access to his brother. But Peter didn’t understand the processes of publishing at all, and inevitable chaos ensued.
Young flew to Spain immediately and booked himself into the Marbella club, not far from Hunt’s home. Over a period of a few days, before Hunt set off on his promotional tour of Europe, Young taped interviews during the day and transcribed them at night, aided by a secretary.
It took Young a further ten days to complete writing the book, and he sent it to Peter Hunt by the end of the third week in November. The process was not to prove a happy one, as the plans kept changing every few days. Young became frustrated. The impossibly tight deadline was not conducive to frequent changes of direction. Peter Hunt didn’t like the way some of it was written and he wanted changes. Young made the changes and duly sent the pages back to Hunt and didn’t hear anything else. He got paid and he didn’t really care.
Anyone who knows Peter Hunt is aware his general manner can be an acquired taste. But he is a very proud man with a sense of tradition. Some believe that it was his brother’s attitude that contributed to many of James Hunt’s problems with journalists in 1977 and 1978. One well-known journalist says of the problem: “Peter simply didn’t get it and tried to impose his views on people.”
People had mixed views, but one fan was John Webb, the managing director of Brands Hatch. Webb had a lot of time for Peter Hunt, saying: “Peter was a very able accountant and he did absolute wonders for James. I had a very high regard for Peter and he was most certainly the architect of most of James’ career.” David Gray echoes Webb: “We became really good mates and I still see him now. He is lovely and a marvellous man, and he looked after James incredibly well too.”
Early on, it became apparent to Young that there was no chance of the book coming out before Christmas, but Peter Hunt refused to accept this until the last minute, when the project was quietly shelved. Young says that the publisher also panicked when a book called Hunt vs Lauda appeared, written by David Benson. That was unlikely to be true; the reality was that they simply ran out of time. There was too much going on in James’ life at time. And the Benson book was well written but poorly produced as a thin, unprepossessing paperback and not a threat at all.
Fully refreshed straight after the New Year, Hunt flew to Argentina for the Grand Prix on 9th January. But he had not enjoyed the Christmas and New Year celebrations with the same carefree manner he was used to. He found even his closest friends treated him differently now that he was world champion. He said: “Physically I reckon I’m alright for the first race, but mentally I’m not ready yet. I need more time to get my mind sorted out and concentrate absolutely on my driving.” He stayed in South America until after the Brazilian Grand Prix. When he arrived back in Europe at the end of January, he was straight back into the promotional activity, but this time for Texaco. The oil company suddenly woke up to the hot property that was James Hunt. He wearily threw himself into it again, and said: “I can tell you, the business of being champion is nearly as tough as trying to stay champion on the track. It’s almost a relief to get back to the simple life on the circuit, but I realise that isn’t the way I should be looking at it.”
The most important social event was a gala dinner at the Europa Hotel in London, where the prestigious Tarmac Trophy was to be presented. This award came with cash; some US$6,000. It guaranteed James’ attendance.
At the time, the event was the equivalent of the modern day Autosport magazine dinner, and over 300 members of motor racing’s great and good came together to honour him, including Teddy Mayer, Alastair Caldwell and his team of eight mechanics. But many people felt that Hunt dishonoured the very formal occasion by turning up in his trademark jeans, t-shirt and an anorak.
It was now very noticeable that at some events he dressed up and others he dressed down. The hosts came to see it is disrespect when he chose the latter for them.
The Tarmac event in particular is remembered by virtually everyone who was there, and the Duke of Kent was noticeably uncomfortable handing Hunt the trophy and the cheque. But everyone also recalls his amusing acceptance speech.
Whereas Hunt usually got away with his informal attire at the Europa Hotel, he was criticised to his face by his contemporaries, who felt he had let down motor sport. Hunt may have been immune to embarrassment but he didn’t like personal criticism any more than the next man, and it bothered him for weeks afterwards. He said: “I refused to be shoved around and if that meant calling a spade a spade and not toadying to middle-class ego-massaging and being dressed in jeans and t-shirt, so what? I wasn’t prepared to truss myself up in a monkey suit and I always thought I turned out cleanly and comfortably dressed. The whole point was that I was basically getting on with my life in my own way and I didn’t really care about what anyone thought. Even though it made a lot of people dislike me intensely, I said to myself, ‘stuff it. I’ll do it my way.’”
Andrew Marriott believes Hunt’s behaviour at the motor racing establishment was deliberate. He says: “I always saw him as the Mick Jagger of motor racing, and he was probably a lot cleverer than most people thought.” He was certainly getting noticed.
On his way back to Europe from Brazil, he called in on Scandinavia – at Sweden, Denmark and Finland – and did events for Vauxhall and Texaco.
Although Texaco had woken up very late to the huge potential of Hunt’s win, the oil company sought to catch up fast and to associate itself with his victory. It commissioned the London advertising agency, Collett Dickenson Pearce (CDP), to film some commercials of Hunt with the comedy duo Morecambe and Wise. The two commercials, written by CDP’s star copywriter, Ron Collins, were very witty and are now regarded as masterpieces by advertising aficionados.
The first advert was full of non-stop quips, including Eric Morecambe addressing Hunt as ‘Jane’ and, when corrected, telling him: “It’s the way you walk.” The punch line to all the ads was: “You can trust Texaco. The world champion does.” Andrew Marriott remembers: “They were done at Silverstone and they were very funny.”
Hunt also appeared on the ‘Morecambe & Wise’ show in a short two minute sketch. The sketch featured Hunt, as a chauffeur, driving Eric and Ernie in the back of a Mini. Hunt picks them up, pushes the seat forward and they climb in the back. He then proceeds to drive them at full speed, knocking over road signs and barriers. When they get to their destination, he lets them out and, just as they are leaving, he grabs Eric Morecambe and says: “Hey, what about a tip?” Morecambe replies: “Certainly. Leave the women alone.”
Desp
ite the success of the Morecambe and Wise commercials, many believe a commercial he did with 76-year-old actor and comedian Fred Emney was his best work. David Gray agrees: “Fred, a huge fat comedian, played the head of Texaco and James said to him: ‘Good afternoon, sir, my name is Hunt’, and Fred said: ‘I can see that from here.’” It was a play on words that would not be tolerated now but was acceptable then, as Gray says: “People were falling about. It was just brilliant.”
CSS also roped in Sue Hunt for a series of newspaper adverts. She was surprisingly game and was especially pleased when she received a US$2,000 fee. The adverts featured the unforgettable catchline: “As used by Mrs Hunt and her son.” It was a brilliant advert by Ron Collins, and no agency had ever brought a sportsman’s mother into it before.
Hunt’s relationship with his sponsors proved to be excellent right up to the day he retired. Much of that was down to Peter Hunt, who was much more comfortable with corporates than with the media. Hunt paid tribute to his brother’s handling of them: “My main sponsorship contracts are Marlboro, Texaco, Vauxhall and Goodyear. I enjoy a very good relationship with them, and Pete is one of the most important reasons for that because the big company people respect how efficiently my affairs are run. It makes it easy for them to deal with me, and I believe that has helped me enormously. I honestly believe that if one of the traditional sports management organisations had been handling my affairs and been rushing in with the hard sell, I wouldn’t have the two years contract with Texaco that I have now. I’m sure it’s because they respect the way our business is carried out.”
Hunt achieved a good reputation for honouring his responsibilities to sponsors as he said: “I hate being involved with promotions if the guy who hired you hasn’t done a good job of setting it up because it reflects badly on you. It doesn’t satisfy me just to get my cheque at the end of the day. That’s the nice thing about my sponsors – they give me sensible work to do. I can see the value in it for them, and it means one goes away at the end of the day satisfied that one has been of worthwhile value for money. It’s most important.”
Hunt was so popular and so effective that Philip Morris was forced to raise his basic retainer by 500 per cent, to US$250,000, for 1977. By initially signing a one-year contract, he had put himself in a very good position to negotiate for the following season. He also expected to earn at least another US$250,000 from prize money and personal appearances for Marlboro. There were also huge amounts of cash from Texaco and Vauxhall. Olympus, the Japanese camera company, paid him US$100,000 in a personal sponsorship deal.
Bernie Ecclestone, observing all this and realising that Hunt would become the best paid Formula One driver in history in 1977, decided to play a joke on Jackie Stewart. Stewart had now been retired from Formula One for four years and was earning some US$500,000 a year as a commentator and sponsorship ambassador in the United States. Stewart considered himself motor racing’s top earner, and often boasted he was earning more in retirement than the drivers currently racing. To annoy Stewart, Ecclestone offered Hunt US$1 million in exchange for the rights to all his income for 1977. The offer, Ecclestone made public, was never serious but he liked the publicity and he loved piquing Stewart.
After the Brazilian Grand Prix, the Hamlyn book project was revived again after the publisher demanded its advance back. Hamlyn had paid US$25,000 up front as well as paying Young US$10,000 and, in the absence of a manuscript, wanted the US$35,000 repaying.
Peter Hunt panicked at the thought of having to tell his brother that not only had he wasted all those hours with Eoin Young, but it would also cost him US$35,000 – not to mention forfeiting the rest of the US$50,000 Hamlyn had promised.
Peter Hunt rang Eoin Young in a panic, saying they had to update the book for a June publication date. He told him he wanted two more chapters on the first two races of the season to freshen up the manuscript and to make it different from the Benson book. Young, feeling cocky and wanting to teach Peter Hunt a lesson, asked for US$3,000 a chapter to finish the job. Hunt told him that under the contract he had to do it as part of the original fee. Young said to him: “What contract?”
In all the haste and confusion of the previous year, Peter Hunt had forgotten to get Young to sign the contract before he had been paid the money. It was an extraordinary lapse for an accountant of Peter Hunt’s reputation. Knowing there was no contract, Young said to him: “I suggested if you could find a copy of the contract with my signature on it, I would do the chapters for nothing.” Hunt appealed to his better nature, saying it would be only a matter of spending two hours with his brother. Young responded with something to the effect of: “Peter, has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want to spend an hour after each race with your brother?”
Hunt was appalled by Young’s attitude, and found another journalist called David Hodges to finish off the book with new chapters. Hodges actually rewrote the entire manuscript at the same time. In the end, it was a very good book, one that his brother could be proud of.
When the season started properly in South Africa on 5th March 1977, James Hunt breathed a sigh of relief as the promotional trips ended and he could get on with the serious business of racing again. As he said: “The last three months have been absolute bloody. You don’t have any idea what it means being world champion. Since Japan there was hardly a single day when I did not attend at least three public functions. I just worked 14 to 20 hours a day.”
But Hunt wasn’t complaining. He had, by the beginning of 1977, over US$1 million in his bank account in cash, plus another US$500,000 in investments bought for him by his brother. But he was keen to tell people he was not just racing for the money, saying: “I do my deals with the team and my sponsors, and to an extent that’s the end of the story. I get my percentages as I race, and, the better I do in races, the better I do financially.
“The races are still a sporting effort for my own personal achievement, and I really don’t think about the money too much. Obviously one attempts to capitalise, but also to find a happy medium. One wants to win races, one wants to live a nice life, one wants to make as much money as one reasonably can without becoming a sort of machine.”
But it’s fair to say that, by the beginning of March 1977, that is exactly how he felt.
CHAPTER 29
Girls, girls, girls, then Jane
But faithful to none of them
James Hunt was a man totally incapable of being monogamous or faithful to one woman. In modern parlance, he would be described as a sex addict and there is no question he had a big appetite for sex.
But during all this time, he was very rarely without a regular partner. Over his life, he probably knew seven women who could be classed as partners, two of whom he married. These were Taormina Rich, Chantal Lacluse, Suzy Miller, Valentine Monnier, Jane Birbeck, Sarah Lomax and Helen Dyson. Of those, he had been in love with only Rich, Miller, Birbeck, Lomax and Dyson, the only relationships that were to last any length of time.
But apart from love, the relationships all had one thing in common – he was faithful to none of them. The five principal partners also had one thing in common – they were all blonde. He generally only dated blue-eyed blondes, and he liked small to medium-breasted girls with longish legs and flat tummies. He was rarely seen with a dark-haired girl. In fact, only Chantal Lacluse, a vivacious dark-haired Polish girl, with whom he lived for a year and a half, was the only exception.
Surprisingly, none of the many other women with whom he became intimately acquainted ever ‘kissed and told’ publicly. Consequently, very little is known about his sex life. Aside from an article in a Dutch magazine, there was no account of any woman speaking publicly about intimate details of their relationship.
But one who did speak anonymously to Hunt’s biographer Gerald Donaldson long after James Hunt was dead, said he was a “sensitive and highly-skilled lover.” She told Donaldson: “He was always attentive to his partner’s needs. Indeed much of his satisfaction came from giving ple
asure. The only problem was that his desire to please often out-stripped my needs.”
Many of the girls with whom Hunt was known to have had relationships with during the seventies now flatly deny it. The laws of libel, of course, prevent authors disputing that, however obvious it may have been to the contrary.
But it must be noted that many of the denials this author encountered were accompanied by a twinkle in the eyes of the deniers, which made the denials very difficult to take seriously.
One such repudiator, who is now a well-known journalist, flatly denies there was ever a sexual relationship, but admits that she took Hunt to meet her mother.
The fact that he never suffered from ‘kiss and tell’ newspaper exposure is unusual considering the number of women he bedded, including married ones while he too was married. There are also no illegitimate children, which, considering how many times he had sex and with how many women, must be considered a minor miracle.
One close friend, who insisted on anonymity said: “Calculating how many women he slept with during his 30-year career as an accomplished and prolific swordsman is impossible, but I’d say it was at least 5,000.” So he was not in Warren Beatty’s class, but not far off. But, as Tony Dron, his close friend from his Formula 3 days, says: “If you were as good looking as him, and women threw themselves at you on a regular basis, what would you have done?”
Although promiscuous from the age of 16, he never really got going until after his marriage to Suzy Miller ended. With her gone, Hunt threw caution to the wind and placed no constraints on his sexual proclivities. His only restriction was his on-off relationship with Jane Birbeck, but she lived far away in New York and, at that time, no one really knew anything about her. Birbeck was beautiful and exactly his sort of woman. He knew he was falling in love with her, but that didn’t stop him sleeping with as many women as he could from early 1976 onwards.
