Shunt

by Tom Rubython

  Mario Andretti was devastated. His reasons for not giving Peterson the spare car had been racing ones. If he had known what was going to happen, he would have handed it over, no question.

  The next day, he recalled how he heard the news: “I was in the car on my way to the hospital with my wife and we were quite relaxed. Obviously we felt very sorry for Ronnie – I mean he’d had a bad break – but in a couple of months he’d be okay. I’m on the autostrada and I get to the booth and the gentleman there says: ‘Hey, did you hear Ronnie Peterson just died?’ I said: ‘No’. ‘It was just on the radio,’ he said. And I went to the hospital and I couldn’t believe it. It was the furthest thing from my mind that he would die from those injuries. I mean, they were severe, no question, but they just didn’t seem to be life-threatening. So that was a huge shock, to say the least.”

  Some time afterwards, Watkins received word from Italian doctors that Peterson’s autopsy had confirmed fat embolism as the cause of the Swede’s death. Fat globules were identified in his lungs, kidneys and brain.

  By this time, many people in Formula One were questioning the competency of the staff who had treated Peterson. Even today, Andretti feels that poor treatment was the cause of his friend’s death: “I felt that fate was so unfair to Ronnie Peterson; to lose his life in a way that he shouldn’t have because, you know, I don’t think those were life-threatening injuries. I don’t think he received the proper care in Italy.”

  Fredrick Petersens, a friend of the Swede who had visited the hospital on the Sunday evening, claimed afterwards that conditions in Niguardia hospital were questionable. “It was dirty and all over the floor were cigarettes,” he reported. “Something had gone wrong, there was little doubt about that. Peterson should not have died from those injuries. The surgeons appeared to have bungled the repair of his legs, a very complex operation.”

  Some people thought the surgeons should have waited to operate until he was more stable. Other people think he should have been flown to Austria or Switzerland to a hospital experienced in mountaineering fractures. A leading Swedish surgeon said later: “You don’t operate on a guy in that condition. That’s rule number one, by the book. You stabilise him first, make sure he has all the life support systems. You don’t just go in there and operate. That’s how these embolisms start. Any doctor in the Austrian or Italian Alps would have understood that because that’s what they’re dealing with every day. They let the patient rest, sort out what needs to be done, and they wait.”

  But Svenby insists the medical treatment Peterson received at Niguardia did not contribute to his death. “It was so ridiculous,” he said, “there were a lot of rumours about the hospital, but it had a record of treating road traffic accidents (where broken limbs are common) and was probably one of the best places for him to go. I have no complaints. The guy who operated on Ronnie was a top Italian surgeon. It was just so unfortunate.”

  Svenby continues: “With hindsight, it’s easy to say that his leg should we been amputated, but Ronnie wouldn’t have wanted that.” Peterson’s friend Lars Berntson later told Johnny Tipler, who wrote a very fine book about him years later: “If they’d amputated, Ronnie’s life wouldn’t have been worth living. Racing was his reason for living. It was all or nothing. So you could say what happened was a blessing in disguise, because I could never imagine Ronnie hopping about with crutches or prosthetic limbs.”

  Watkins agrees with Svenby and insists that Peterson got the best treatment, saying: “Niguardia hospital was a major trauma centre level 1.” Max Mosley adds: “It was important to all of us that Sid was there, because we would all have said that the Italians screwed up like they did with Jochen Rindt. But Sid was there and was able to say it was an act of God; Ronnie was just unlucky.”

  Colin Chapman ordered an aircraft to fly from Britain to collect Peterson’s coffin. It was flown back to Sweden with Staffan Svenby and Ake Strandberg on board.

  Four days later, hundreds of people lined up outside the church in Peterson’s home town of Orebro, Sweden, as Formula One paid its final respects to the Swede. Emerson Fittapaldi, James Hunt, Niki Lauda, Jody Scheckter, Ake Strandberg and John Watson carried his coffin, while Peterson’s close friend, countryman and fellow racing driver Gunnar Nilsson, who by that time was in the advanced stages of cancer and too weak to help bear his friends remains, followed on behind. Upon his return to London, Nilsson went straight into hospital. He was never to leave and died a few weeks later, on 20th October, at the age of 30.

  Andretti did not attend Peterson’s funeral. After Monza, he and Dee-Ann spent a couple of days in Florence before flying back out to New York. There was a USAC race in Michigan the following weekend, in which Andretti had committed to run. Qualifying took place on the day of Peterson’s funeral.

  Chapman sent two aeroplanes full of Lotus staff over to Sweden. Poignantly, at exactly the same time, cars and equipment were being shipped to the airport for the journey to the United States for the next Grand Prix at Watkins Glen. Whatever trauma hit Formula One, and Peterson’s death was one of the biggest, the show always went on.

  In Italy, as Chapman had feared, a legal investigation into the accident got under way. But, as Chapman had disposed of all the evidence, it did not get very far and he never faced any investigation or charges over the car. Using video tapes, Italian police charged the race starter and Ricardo Patrese with manslaughter.

  The drivers, angry at Peterson’s death and looking for someone to blame, set up their very own kangaroo court with Hunt taking on the role of ‘Hanging Judge Jeffries’.

  There was high emotion, and the Grand Prix Drivers’ Association safety committee was formed with Hunt, Niki Lauda, Emerson Fittipaldi, Jody Scheckter and Mario Andretti sitting on it. It quickly decided on Hunt’s say-so that Ricardo Patrese was guilty of dangerous driving and should be banned from competing in the next race at Watkins Glen. And that is precisely what happened.

  Patrese had a reputation for being arrogant and had been criticised previously by drivers for overly-aggressive driving. But he stated firmly that he was innocent, and urged the committee to watch the film of the incident. But Hunt was adamant: “For me, the responsibility for the accident is completely Patrese’s.” Patrese knew he had not hit Hunt.

  Patrese was proved right, and three years later he was cleared of any blame by the Italian courts. Italian judges studied the video tapes carefully, which seemed to show that Patrese’s Arrows did not hit Hunt’s McLaren. But it had forced the McLaren into the Lotus when Hunt swerved to avoid contact with Patrese’s aggressive driving.

  Patrese may have been overly aggressive but it was proved to be a racing incident – a conclusion on which everyone, including Hunt, eventually came to agree. If Patrese hadn’t driven as aggressively as he had, Peterson would still be alive; but that was Formula One, and all the drivers – including Peterson – knew and understood those risks.

  Ricardo Patrese’s career continued and eventually he competed in more Formula One Grand Prix races than any other driver. But Patrese’s reputation suffered badly from the incident and its aftermath, and he never forgave Hunt for the disrepute. He said: “Inside myself, I knew I had no reason to be unhappy because I knew I did not cause the accident. But I think what the drivers did to me on that occasion is very difficult to forgive.”

  Years later, a repentant Hunt tried to speak to him to clear the air, but Patrese considered the damage done and therefore irreparable. Patrese refused to speak to him and stepped to the other side of the Formula One paddock whenever he saw Hunt. Patrese’s attitude was troublesome to Hunt, and remained so until his death. When Hunt died, he and Patrese were still bitter enemies but, as Ecclestone summed it up years later: “At the time, James believed what he’d done was right. He thought he had to jump up and blame somebody, which wasn’t really necessary because it was an accident. And it wasn’t really the cause of Ronnie’s death anyway. Nobody dies from a broken leg.”

  James Hunt was awar
ded the Golden Shield by the Royal Swedish Automobile Club for his part in rescuing Ronnie Peterson.

  CHAPTER 34

  Sudden retirement and gone 1979

  The flag comes down on a career of contrasts

  James Hunt went into 1979 with no illusions – it would be his last year of racing. He had been traumatised by the death of Ronnie Peterson and he no longer wanted to take the risk of being killed or maimed in a race car. He would drive one more season, primarily for the money and secondly in the hope that a competitive car could enable him to leave the sport in a blaze of glory.

  Despite all his reservations about safety after Peterson’s death, he was still looking forward to the season ahead with his new team. Whatever he had thought of Peter Warr in the past, he eventually came to the realisation that he was a good organiser and administrator. And Warr had agreed to pay Hunt a great deal of money for his services, which more than made up for not buying him lunch four years earlier.

  Hunt’s US$1 million salary would be paid in two equal instalments, due by 1st May and 1st November. John Hogan also agreed that Marlboro would organise a personal sponsorship deal worth US$125,000 a year. Along with other personal deals, Hunt hoped to earn about US$1.5 million in his last year of racing. In 1977 and 1978, he had cleared over US$1 million a year all in and paid very little tax living in Marbella as an ex-pat.

  The money may have been good, but what Hunt didn’t know was that Walter Wolf was entering his own period of decline. He had business problems similar to those of Lord Hesketh in 1974. Oil prices had collapsed and so had exploration. His company’s services, so in demand ten years earlier, were no longer wanted. Wolf was also guilty of hubris; he had believed his own press cuttings. His personal spending was over US$2 million a year plus what he spent on the Formula One team, and it was unsustainable.

  To take some of the financial strain, Wolf had signed his first commercial sponsor, Olympus Cameras, to help pay the bills. Peter Warr had lured Olympus over from Lotus. The camera company had almost exclusive branding on the car and the deal was worth US$1 million a year, which effectively paid Hunt’s salary. There was not much left to spend on the team.

  But whatever his enthusiasm for his new team and season, Hunt’s motivation was suspect. In truth, Hunt no longer believed in Formula One as once he had. Now, three years after his world championship victory, he was disillusioned and worn down by the politics at McLaren. The 1978 season had been terrible, and he had become very aware of Teddy Mayer and Alastair Caldwell’s limitations. He loved them as people, but they too had come to believe their own press cuttings.

  Hunt would have retired at the end of 1978 had he not been offered so much money by Warr. But he was still ambitious. He wanted to win the world title again and he firmly believed he could do it with the Wolf team, whose car was designed by ex-Hesketh technical director Harvey Postlethwaite. Hunt had maximum faith in Postlethwaite’s skills.

  But the Argentine Grand Prix in Buenos Aires, on 21st January 1979, was a serious wake up call. He found he had lost some of his zest for Formula One. The failure of the 1978 season had hit him hard, and Wolf was no Hesketh. Every time he looked at Peter Warr, he found he still remembered the lunch he never got in 1975. Hunt himself was also no longer quite the golden boy and, as much as he told people he detested the epithet, he now rather missed it. Gilles Villeneuve was the new star of Formula One. Hunt’s friend Bubbles Horsley had also closed down his rent-a-driver team and was no longer around for moral support. The rising costs of Formula One had scared away most of the privateers, and the prize money allocation system had been changed. Now only the top teams received cash, driving out all the smaller participants. The Hesketh era that had started in 1973 and lasted five years was well and truly over, and the new system meant it would no longer be possible to do a Hesketh.

  In truth, the James Hunt era was also coming to an end, but he was still lingering on. Hunt felt it keenly. To use a modern slogan that was unknown back then, it would be fair to say that Hunt was essentially “past his sell-by date”.

  The new season was all about the new people, the young people. Hunt had turned 30 and he was no longer in that category. He felt that keenly, as well.

  Formula One was coming to be dominated by the French. The oil company Elf had done a brilliant job nurturing young French drivers, and seven of them now dominated the grid. Patrick Depailler moved from Tyrrell to Ligier to be partnered with Jacques Laffite in the French team. Ken Tyrrell’s team had started its long decline and the cars were in the hands of two more Frenchmen, Didier Pironi and Jean-Pierre Jarier, chosen by oil sponsor Elf. Jean-Pierre Jabouille was joined by Rene Arnoux at Renault, now a two-car team for the first time. The seventh Frenchman was Patrick Tambay, who was now getting into the groove at McLaren, where John Watson had replaced Hunt after Peterson’s death. Niki Lauda had been joined at Brabham by another rising star, Nelson Piquet. Elsewhere, Carlos Reutemann had switched to Lotus from Ferrari and Clay Regazzoni had joined Alan Jones at Williams, which was also a two-car team for the first time.

  Jones and Regazzoni were set to be the sensations of the season in sensational cars.

  There was a serious changing of the guard going on in Formula One, but it was all happening too quickly. Ground effects technology had totally changed the game and few of the current designers understood it fully. Simultaneously, two other major technical changes besides ground effects were occurring that were just as significant to lap times. First, the Renault turbo engine was now working extremely well with the single turbocharger being replaced by twin KKK turbocharger, virtually eliminating the throttle lag that had plagued the cars. The other change was the arrival of Michelin radial tyres. These were exclusive to Renault and Ferrari, as the rest of the field was on Goodyear cross plies.

  The changes were too sudden, and the established order was being swept away too quickly and to the detriment of the show. There was a dearth of established stars performing at the front. Lauda, Hunt, Andretti and Fittipaldi were still there, but they were all suddenly in uncompetitive cars and effectively back markers. It was not to be a vintage year for anyone, and eventually the world championship was won by the driver who got the most points – not from winning – but from finishing second, third, and fourth weekend in, weekend out.

  Somehow, the advent of ground effects technology had sucked the life out of Formula One, and even Jody Scheckter would have admitted he was not the best driver that year.

  If James Hunt thought the McLaren M26 was a dog, the Wolf WR7 was a whole lot worse. Privately, Hunt called it “an ill-handling pig”, saying that was a complimentary view of the car. But he was careful to keep his real thoughts private. Publicly, he said: “The car is suffering from a drastic oversteer problem which we cannot do anything about.”

  There were also doubts about the standard of preparation of the car. In qualifying, the nose cone flew off and came back into the cockpit. He had to duck as it flew over his head at high speed, narrowly missing his helmet. Hunt was surprised at the quality of the technical set-up at Wolf, bearing in mind that Warr and Postlethwaite were in charge. He began to have second thoughts about Postlethwaite’s capabilities. There had always been doubts about the Hesketh team’s success and whether it was due to the brilliant car or the brilliant driver. No one, least of all Hunt, really knew the answer to that. Only now was he beginning to work it out.

  Hunt eventually qualified 18th and drove round at the back of the field for 41 laps before the electrics failed, causing the engine to cut out. He found retirement a merciful relief and headed to the airport to spend a week at Emerson Fittipaldi’s beach house. From that moment on, he knew there was going to be no fairytale ending to his career, and all of his thoughts were on getting himself out.

  As expected, the French were totally supreme at the opening race. Laffite and Depailler were first and second on the grid, and first and fourth in the race. Laffite was also blowing away the more experienced Depailler.

&nb
sp; The French Ligier-Ford cars were designed by newcomer Gerard Ducarouge. He had refined the ground effects theories pioneered by Lotus simply by designing a car with massive side panniers and maximising the area under the car. It was very crude but highly effective. Combined with the Ford Cosworth engine, the speed of the cars was only limited by the ability of the drivers.

  Fittipaldi’s beach house on the Brazilian coast was a dream, and Hunt forgot the troubles that were constantly revolving around in his head. But even the week at the beach house felt different from the carefree days of the past; he was no longer carefree. It slowly began to dawn on him that he had seen his best years, and they were behind him. It was time for the second act of his life; and it did not include being a Formula One driver.

  On 4th February, at Interlagos for the Brazilian Grand Prix, he manhandled the Wolf-Ford up the grid to tenth place. It was a magnificent performance, and he was alongside Fittipaldi on the fifth row. Fittipaldi had also used his supreme talent to get his Fittipaldi-Ford car in that position. On the grid, the two glanced at each other with knowing smiles.

  The second race of the season was totally dominated by the Ligier Fords of Jacques Laffite and Patrick Depailler, this time scoring 100 per cent; 1-2 in the race and in qualifying. For Wolf, it went from bad to worse. After a few laps, Hunt attempted to change gear but found himself waving around the little gearstick as it came off in his hand. It hadn’t been tightened up properly. As he struggled, unable to change gears, the steering rack also came apart – apparently for the same reason. He quickly retired the car, having lost all confidence in his mechanics.

  Hunt scurried off straight to the airport to return home to Spain via Heathrow. He was missing Oscar, his German Shepherd, at home in Marbella. The direct connection he had with that particular dog never ceased to amaze him. The dog went everywhere with him when he was at home.