by Tom Rubython
On lap 36 Scheckter was delayed by another car slowing for a tight corner, and Hunt tucked his McLaren in behind the Tyrrell’s rear wing. As they accelerated down the straight, Hunt darted out of Scheckter’s slipstream and took the lead.
But four laps later, Scheckter got in front again as they were lapping back markers. Hunt was furious with himself, losing the lead after all that work. As he said afterwards: “Jody blasted past me on the straight. I really thought I’d blown it.”
Hunt’s adrenaline level was high and he pressed on, determined to win. Adrenaline levels were always a Hunt problem. As Alastair Caldwell recalled: “He put a tremendous amount of effort into racing, and he had the biggest adrenalin pump of any racing driver I’ve ever known. He was so excited in the car before a race that if you sat on the side of it, you’d think the motor was running.”
One advantage was that Niki Lauda was trailing around a few places behind. He was not even on for a podium finish, and all the action was at the front between Scheckter and Hunt.
Within a lap, Hunt was again within striking range. For several laps he waited to pounce, testing Scheckter’s reaction when he moved to the left and right sides of the track behind him. Finally, with 12 laps to go, Hunt forced his way alongside the Tyrrell coming into a slow corner. The two cars went round the bend side by side, and on the straight, Hunt got past. This time he drove like a demon to put air between him and Scheckter, who he realized was a master at negotiating slower back markers.
Hunt reeled off a succession of quick laps and eventually smashed the record with a lap that was an astonishing one second faster than his pole position. That sort of performance is rarely achieved in Formula One, and spectators that day got a master class in fast driving.
Hunt went across the line eight seconds ahead of Scheckter, and Lauda came in a minute behind in third. He got out of his car, exhausted and soaked in sweat from an outstanding drive. Hunt had closed the gap to within three points of Lauda, and there was one race remaining. On the podium he downed a bottle of cold Miller beer instead of the traditional champagne.
As Hunt stood on the podium, he told journalists, “It was as tough a race as I ever had to drive. For the first 20 laps, I drove like an old grandmother and just couldn’t adapt to my car. Both Jody and I were making mistakes in those opening laps. Then I got it together and I chased Jody and passed him fairly easily. I missed my gear change and got a fistful of neutrals, and by the time I had found a gear, Jody was past again. But I was quicker on the straight and hauled him in.”
The victory sent the whole circuit wild as they sensed the historic moment and the showdown to come in Japan. Hunt was cheered in the pressroom by the normally cynical journalists. He left the pressroom in company with David Benson, and the two men were mobbed as they walked to the Goodyear hospitality marquee for a champagne-fueled post-race party. Benson recalls: “It was an intoxicating, exciting scene. At that moment, I really believed that James was at last going to win the world championship. I wanted him to win. My emotions told me that he deserved to win.”
Between gulping down champagne, Hunt said, “This was the most important race of my life. I simply had to win. Thank God, Jody was second. That puts Niki only three points in front of me for Japan. If I win there and he comes second, I could still win the championship. We would have equal points, but I would have more grand prix wins.”
A disappointed Niki Lauda had genuinely expected to clinch the championship at Watkins Glen but was left empty-handed save for the four points earned by coming third. Lauda said of his race: “It was okay at the beginning. After all, I had 44 gallons of fuel aboard, putting a useful extra load on the tires. But the lighter my car became, the more critical the tire adhesion, as they just never reached their optimum working temperature. I had to be pleased that I came third.”
After the race he went directly by helicopter from the circuit to the airport for his home in Salzburg. When he got there, he discussed with his surgeons whether he could delay his facial operation. The skin grafts around his brow and cheeks were so tight that he couldn’t close his right eye properly, and it was becoming inflamed. An immediate eye operation was deemed necessary, but Lauda insisted it could not happen until after the Japanese Grand Prix. He had no choice but to travel to Tokyo without having had the operation. Fate had marked Niki Lauda’s card.
Hunt had no such worries, and later that evening he partied like never before at the Glen Motor Inn. Going back past a construction site, he stole a road worker’s yellow hard hat with a flashing orange light on it. In the bar, with the flashing hat perched on his head, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and a beer in one hand, he cavorted with the many adoring girls in the bar that night. Also at that party were Caldwell, Mayer, and John Hogan. And it was there, in that bar, that these three men conversed, plotted, and came up with a plan that would make James Hunt world champion. The plan would be decisive over the course of the next two weeks.
Before the Canadian Grand Prix, Hunt had only been five points behind Lauda, which meant that he had only to take six points from the final three grand prix races without Lauda scoring to be champion. But his disqualification from Brands Hatch had turned that into a 17-point deficit. Somehow he had now reduced that to three and the score was Lauda 68, Hunt 65, with one race left.
The math was relatively simple: To be champion, Hunt needed to finish first outright, and he would be world champion no matter what Lauda did. If he was second, Lauda needed to be fourth or lower for him to win. If he was third, he needed Lauda to be sixth or lower. If he was fourth or under, then Lauda would be champion.
And Lauda was not the only one with medical problems. The next day, Hunt went for an examination of his left arm. He had been suffering from inflamed ligaments and had had cortisone injections earlier that week. A cure before Tokyo was vital.
A showdown loomed in Japan at the eponymous Mount Fuji track.
CHAPTER 27
Caldwell Outsmarts Audetto
Hunt Drives 12 Vital Laps
Tokyo: October 11–16
By any measure, Niki Lauda should have been crowned world champion in North America. In that event, Ferrari would have traveled to Japan and entered cars for Carlos Reutemann and Clay Regazzoni. Lauda had no intention of going to Japan, nor would he have needed to.
As it was, Daniele Audetto accepted the situation, and Ferrari packed up its cars as usual, ready to put them on the Formula One charter jumbo jet to Japan. He telephoned Reutemann, who was in Italy, and told him his services would not be required until the following season. Audetto’s sense of sangfroid was astonishing, and despite having been thoroughly trounced at Watkins Glen, Ferrari’s complacency after the race defied explanation. Audetto made no attempt to change his plans or do anything special to prepare for the last race on which the championship would depend.
By comparison, on the evening of Sunday, October 10, 1976, Teddy Mayer, Alastair Caldwell, and John Hogan sat quietly in the lounge of the Glen Motor Inn contemplating their next move. Caldwell and Hogan were staying in America and flying straight onto Japan, while Mayer was returning to London.
Before that, Mayer, Caldwell, and Hogan joined in a deadly serious conversation. They were in a place in time they had never expected to be. With one race left, McLaren could win the Formula One world championship. James Hunt’s victory that day, and Niki Lauda’s fourth place, meant there were only three points between them. It was suddenly all up for grabs in Japan. As usual, Hogan summed up the situation succinctly: “James knew it was just there, and he was kind of standing on Niki’s throat.”
This was the kind of situation in which Alastair Caldwell was at his best. A tremendously competitive man, he had a brain that worked in a certain way, different from that of most people. Sometimes he was stubborn and hopeless, but other times, brilliant and untouchable. Sometimes it was pure genius, although sometimes his ideas turned out to be the opposite. But when Caldwell was right, he was very right. It was the
reason that Bruce McLaren had liked him so much and that Teddy Mayer put up with his idiosyncrasies. Hogan agreed with that analysis and said, “James always said Alastair Caldwell won the championship, not him.”
This time Caldwell’s plan was brilliant, even if Mayer did not think so. And indeed, what happened next probably dictated the eventual outcome of the championship.
Caldwell had been brooding about the task in hand since the checkered flag had fallen on Hunt’s victory, trying to see where McLaren could get an edge on Ferrari. Finally, he turned to Mayer and barked out an order to his boss: “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.”
Mayer stared at Caldwell as if he was crazy; the cars and equipment were already packed and ready to go the airport for the Formula One charter flight. Mayer was also worried about the cost and tried to talk Caldwell out of it. The charter was already paid for, as were the airfares for all the team personnel. What Caldwell proposed would cost at least an additional $15,000, and it wasn’t budgeted for. Mayer was also uncertain about track availability, getting the car through customs, and having enough spares on hand in case the car broke down. There was also the little matter that the teams had already agreed beforehand between them, on grounds of cost, not to test in advance at Mount Fuji. But Caldwell knew that was an informal, nonbinding agreement that he could easily get round.
Thinking the whole scheme foolhardy, Mayer told Caldwell to forget the idea: “No way; we’re not going testing in Japan. It isn’t feasible.” And Mayer thought that was that. He had no notion that Caldwell would defy a direct order from his boss.
But Caldwell was exasperated with Mayer’s attitude. He excused himself and got straight on the phone to an airfreight agency in New York. The agency’s night desk informed him of a flight leaving for Tokyo late the next day. It was an important flight to catch, as it was the only outbound-scheduled plane that week with big enough cargo doors to take a Formula One car on a pallet. Caldwell said he would ring back to confirm the booking. But in his head, he already had.
As soon as he put down the phone to the freight agency, he rang the Watkins Glen circuit, where his mechanics had just finished the packing. He informed the mechanics of the new plan and 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 to go to the airport on Monday morning. The mechanics got straight down to work. Crucially, they asked Caldwell how many spares they should pack. Remembering Mayer’s warnings about cost, Caldwell replied, “the minimum.” Caldwell returned to the lounge and mentioned not a word of his phone calls. Mayer was none the wiser.
Back at the circuit, the Ferrari mechanics watched the McLaren men unpack a car and immediately guessed what was going on. Chief mechanic Ermanno Cuoghi telephoned Daniele Audetto back at the hotel and told him. Audetto immediately put in a call to the Ferrari factory in Maranello for permission to do the same. If Caldwell was testing, he was going to test as well. But there lay the crucial difference in the two men’s characters. Unlike Caldwell, Audetto wasn’t willing to take responsibility for the extra cost on his own head.
Meanwhile, Alastair Caldwell dropped Teddy Mayer at the local heliport on his way to New York’s JFK airport to catch his plane back to London that night. On the journey, Mayer thought Caldwell too chirpy, and he thought he smelled a rat. His last words to him over the clatter of the helicopter blades were “Don’t send that car to Japan; it’s a waste of time and money.”As the helicopter took off for New York, Caldwell shouted out, “Well, stuff you.”
Mayer’s comments simply galvanized Caldwell and made him even more determined to do it. As soon as he returned to the hotel, he rang the shipping agent and told him the crate would be ready first thing in the morning. The agency was keen to help out the famous racing driver James Hunt anyway it could and was 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 had also telephoned the same shipping agency to ask if Ferrari could get a car on the flight as well. The shippers answered that a truck was already arranged to pick up the McLaren and that the Ferrari crate could go on as well. But Cuoghi, like Audetto, didn’t have the nerve to authorize 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 $15,000. When Audetto finally spoke to Maranello, they promised to get authority from Enzo. But 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 authorization from Italy.
On Monday morning, Enzo Ferrari gave his blessing straightaway, and his secretary called the track to let Audetto know he could send the car. But strangely, she couldn’t get through to him.
But there was nothing strange about it. By then, back at the circuit, the wily Caldwell had noticed the to-ing and fro-ing from the pit lane telephone, and understanding just enough Italian, he had worked out what was happening and resolved to try and intercept the call in order to stall Ferrari. He knew if Audetto and Cuoghi couldn’t get permission to spend the money, 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 was stationed near the phone and generally answered it, 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 recalled the story to writer Christopher Hilton many years later: “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 in the Italian pit, 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 people from the Ferrari factory in Maranello from ever speaking to Audetto. Audetto could only assume that they had had difficulty in locating Enzo to get authorization. It was no surprise, as he was an old man and often slept late. So when the shipper’s truck arrived, only the McLaren was loaded onto it. Caldwell, Hunt, and two mechanics followed on a flight to Tokyo the next morning.
When Audetto finally spoke to Maranello, he realized immediately what Caldwell must have done, but by then it was too late. Ferrari’s cars had already been loaded onto the charter flight truck and had left for the airport.
However, when Caldwell got to Japan, he quickly realized that he may have been too clever for his own good. Initially, it did occur to Caldwell that perhaps Mayer had been right about what a waste of time it was. He 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 that was carried out with the utmost rigor. This became a problem because the CSI regulat
ions were very clear—that teams were not allowed to test at a circuit in the same week as the race. Caldwell remembers: “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 acclimatized himself to Japan. After the car failed, Hunt donned his running gear and ran round the track a few times; noting all the corners and circuit characteristics. It was the first time the Mount Fuji track had hosted the Japanese Grand Prix, and it would now work to Hunt’s advantage.
CHAPTER 28
Hedonism at the Hilton
On a High and a Low
Tokyo: October 17–21
The intensity and closeness of the battle for the world championship between James Hunt and Niki Lauda had made front-page news all over the world and propelled Formula One into the global spotlight. Because of them, Formula One was now one of the top sports in the world, and every major country decided 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 toward the sport.
In the process, James Hunt had also become a global celebrity and was now more famous than any previous Formula One world champion. Hunt enjoyed pop star status globally. The spin-offs were huge. From having had virtually zero interest in Formula One, the world’s major broadcasting companies were now cajoling Bernie Ecclestone to grant them broadcast rights for the Japanese Grand Prix in their respective countries. In the end, Ecclestone sold the broadcast rights to virtually every territory, and it was the first time he had experienced any real demand. Up until then, Ecclestone had not even been able to give the rights away gratis. What’s more, the TV companies were opening negotiations to take on Formula One for a longer-term basis, and it was all down to James Hunt and Niki Lauda.