by Max Mosley
Our other driver was Ian Scheckter, older brother of Jody who was to become world champion two years later. He had a potential sponsor in Rothmans and initial contacts with the tobacco company were promising. It was a good moment because I was able to tell them that we had a revolutionary car we were about to reveal and eventually the deal was done. Scheckter was our man and we had our two drivers for 1977. The only snag, and not an unimportant one, was that neither of them had ever raced in Formula One.
8
A LAST YEAR WITH MARCH
Back from Japan, I found Robin Herd and our other Formula One engineer, Martin Walters, busy planning the technical evolution of our cars in 1977 and trying to restructure our team. In the latter part of 1976 our cars had become very fast, thanks to a lot of testing with Peterson and a massive technical programme involving the engineering and aerodynamic departments in several different universities, as well as the wind tunnel at MIRA (Motor Industry Research Association) and our own computer resources. Robin and I had an understanding that he would not take any major technical or managerial decisions without first consulting me, and I would not make any deal or involve us in anything of consequence without discussing it with him beforehand. As a result, I was involved in all the major technical decisions between Robin and Martin.
During 1976 we had managed to find the necessary speed – all three of our cars were in the first six on the grid in Watkins Glen – but we lacked reliability. This was partly due to basic design – for example, the front tyre overheating problem – and partly due to poor detail design and preparation. Our programme for 1977 had, as its first priority, the elimination of this unreliability without losing sight of the need for an improvement in performance. Robin and Martin devised a very detailed schedule of modifications for reliability, a plan to eliminate the fundamental design faults in the chassis and a host of technical improvements geared towards better lap times.
The most spectacular aspect of our performance programme was the six-wheel car. We had been planning this for some time and quietly getting it built. Then we heard a rumour that another team was also developing a six-wheel car with four-wheel drive like ours – a rumour that was substantiated when Autosport actually broke the story. The big difference between ours and the Tyrrell six-wheeler was that our tandem wheels were at the rear, which eliminated the huge rear tyres and their immense aerodynamic drag. So we quickly threw the car together and unveiled it in mid-November to a slightly disbelieving press. Some of them actually suspected it was a joke or a device to snare a sponsor, which shows how naive even people in the business can be about the problems of racing car building, getting special castings made and so on. In fact, Robin and I secretly believed the new device would be spectacularly successful, but we did not want to admit this to anyone in case it was not. Motor racing is littered with revolutionary innovations for which great success was promised but never realised.
A few days later there was the press day at March to show the new six-wheeler for the first time. We still had not finalised the deal with Rothmans so it carried no advertising – a pity because the pictures appeared in newspapers all over the world. The press reaction was good and most of the other constructors were pleased. It helps Formula One generally to have new and innovative machinery. We spent most of the day pushing the car about and standing beside it, having our pictures taken. All very fine, I thought, as long as there are some races to take it to. I was very conscious of the coming problems between FOCA and the race organisers’ WCR group.
The following Monday I flew to Marseille for a quick visit to the Ricard circuit, where many of the teams were testing. Partly I wanted to see the new cars, and partly to have another talk with Count Zanon. James and Niki turned up, James arriving by helicopter while Teddy Mayer waited for him at Marseille. James looked a bit run-down from all the celebrating and Niki looked worse than I had seen him since the accident. He had undergone surgery to fix his right eye, which he had not been able to shut, and looked really unwell. Despite this he got straight on to me to find out who the sponsor was that would have paid for him to drive for us if he had left Ferrari. He obviously wanted a personal deal. When he got back from Japan, Ferrari asked what he would do next time it rained during a race. Being Niki, he replied: ‘The same thing as in Japan if I think it’s dangerous.’ His answer provoked a summons to Maranello to discuss his future, but before setting off he made quite certain of alternative accommodation for 1977 should he have needed it by calling some English teams including ours. By then, with his 1975 championship win and the sensational events of 1976, we were assured of finance should he have joined our team.
However often I made the journey to South America for the first race of the new season, there was always an enormous sense of elation stepping from an icy European winter into the damp heat of Rio de Janeiro, our first stop in Latin America. It is instant summer and the relief is so intense after the European cold you wonder why everyone there seems to be suffering from the heat.
Robin arrived in Buenos Aires with our bags very late and rather the worse for wear after coming via Caracas following problems with the flights. We got back to the hotel in the early hours after an interesting drive through army roadblocks. In 1977, Buenos Aires was like Belfast, only with the added excitement of the South American temperament. There were odd bursts of gunfire and an incident seemed possible at any moment.
Our six-wheeler was not ready and we arrived in Argentina with only slightly modified versions of the 1976 cars. Getting the six-wheeler to work with the complexities of four driven wheels and two differentials proved difficult. With two inexperienced drivers, we recruited Howden Ganley to do the testing and he demonstrated that the gain in straight-line speed over a conventional car was spectacular. Traction was also extremely good and the rear wing worked much better without the large rear wheels because there was a smoother airflow. However, more work was required to ensure complete reliability.
Unhappily, before it could be completed the FIA brought in a rule that Formula One cars could have only four wheels, a major disappointment. Howden still enthuses about the car today and I have no doubt it would have given us a significant performance advantage. Other teams would have been able to copy it but it would have taken them several months. The only consolation was the success of a version of the six-wheeler in hill climb and historic events. Together with the loss of my vertical wing (chapter 4) this was the second really annoying FIA rule change at short notice that cost us time, money and a potential winning edge.
During the first official practice there was an explosion in one of the cars just after it passed the pits. Bits of car were flying through the air and spooked all the soldiers guarding the race into throwing themselves to the ground and adopting firing positions. It also caused a stampede in the pits, but in the middle of the confusion Ian recorded a decent time despite braking hard to avoid the debris. The organisers stopped practice and would not restart it for the last five minutes. Juan Manuel Fangio, who was in charge, blithely said there was more practice tomorrow, which was perfectly true but showed how little he knew of the minute-by-minute planning of a modern Grand Prix practice period.
The fire extinguisher in Mario Andretti’s Lotus had been the source of the explosion: as pressure built up due to the heat, a safety valve had apparently not functioned and it had detonated with such force that the whole front of the car back to and including the pedals had been destroyed. Mario had managed to slow the car from 160 mph with no brakes, his visor covered in oil and peering through a small hole in the bodywork that had peeled back over his head. I met him later in the hotel waiting for the lift. He said the worst part was that he’d had a severe blow to his feet, which were numb, and as he slowed the car he suspected his toes had been blown off. His anxiety had been to get out and see if they were still there. We talked about how most cars had the extinguisher under the seat. ‘Yeah . . . a thing like that could de-nut you,’ he said. We agreed that would be even worse t
han the toes.
The next day at breakfast I bumped into Niki and congratulated him on being faster than Reutemann in practice. ‘I was really trying, I tell you,’ he said. ‘And I am really happy to be in front of him. He is the big hero now with the Old Man and I am the big wanker. Oh, I say, let Mr Reutemann do the testing. I will go to Argentina and do my best but if the car is shit it’s his car not mine. Now the car is really bad and I am trying like hell to be quicker than him.’ I said if he could go quicker in Argentina, he would be quicker everywhere and his position then would be very strong. Reutemann would be discredited as a test driver by the poor performance of the car and, worse still, demonstrably slower than Niki. ‘This is what I am trying. You know, in Ricard I was not even allowed in the pit – in case I disturb Mr Reutemann,’ he said contemptuously. ‘You really looked ill that time in Ricard,’ I said. ‘I know, I was, but now I am a hundred per cent,’ he replied. Despite the scars he looked as fit and alert as ever.
‘Did you feel depressed after Japan?’ I asked. ‘No, I never regretted it. You know how tired we are at the end of the season – you, us, the mechanics, everyone. Well, after what happened to me I was nearly dead, I had no reserves left. So when the race started, I couldn’t see and I was aquaplaning everywhere – it was obvious madness. I had nothing left to make myself put the foot down and go. So I stopped.’ I knew exactly what he meant. ‘You know what I don’t like is the sneaky way Reutemann got into Ferrari when things were bad for me – this is what I am really angry about.’
‘Oh, come on, Niki – you would have done exactly the same,’ I said. ‘You of all people.’ He smiled. ‘OK, but then he is stupid because if he can do this to me, he should realise I will do it ten times worse to him.’ It struck me just how much Niki had developed since his early days with us and that I should really like to have him back at March. Reutemann only ever had one chance and that was that Niki had lost his speed. It was now clear that he had not and I thought Reutemann would be about ready to give up by Spain. Niki, of course, went on to win the 1977 World Championship and, having thus conclusively won the contest with Ferrari that started at the Ricard test session, departed to join Bernie’s team for the 1978 season.
By the end of the second day’s practice our two drivers were, as predicted, at the back and proving better at damaging their engines than giving us the information on the cars’ handling, which is essential for good performance. However, we had anticipated this – we knew it would be a struggle for the first few races. As Niki had said during breakfast: ‘I don’t know how you do it – every year you start again with new drivers. Do you give them a form to fill: name, address, telephone number . . . ?’ I thought to myself, you’re right – next year it might be an idea to start with you.
After the race, which was won by Wolf’s Jody Scheckter, Derek Gardner (Tyrrell’s designer) and I went together to the airport. We discussed car technicalities over dinner in that vaguely defensive manner of bluff and counter-bluff we all used, ever fearful of giving something away. Then Niki appeared, followed by Bernie and Gordon Murray, with Teddy Mayer. Teddy was blaming himself for a suspension failure on James’s car – he thought he had put too many spacers in the suspension and it had gone solid. Bernie was pleased with his second place but justifiably disappointed he had not won. Niki was in a determined mood, having run well ahead of Reutemann until his engine had failed and now he was going back to confront the Old Man. ‘The car has never been so bad. It understeers into the corner then oversteers at the exit and no way to get rid of it. So I am going to tell them, OK – I am ready to work – let’s do some proper testing. So either we work and do it properly or I have the biggest wank you ever see while they pay me a fortune.’ The Ferrari technicians in Argentina wanted to get Forghieri, their chief engineer, out to Brazil for the next race, thinking he might cure the problem. But Niki was in no doubt – the problem was fundamental and needed a major development programme.
Then Niki raised the question of why the McLaren was so fast – it was clearly superior in both practice and the race. We agreed it was not particularly good aerodynamically, wasn’t light, probably had an above average engine and a six-speed gearbox (compared with five in all the other cars except the Brabhams), but none of these things could really explain its performance. ‘Ah,’ I said, ‘now we are getting into the area which cannot be discussed. Robin and I are certain we know and I daresay Derek is’ – he nodded – ‘and this is the area where all the work will take place.’ I wondered if Derek really thought he knew and, if so, whether his theory was the same as ours. Niki did not pretend to know but I could see he was intensely curious. As the discussion developed I became more and more convinced that he was the most intelligent driver by far – and that it would be an immense advantage to have him in the team.
Six weeks after that discussion in the Buenos Aires airport, I was in South Africa for the Grand Prix and standing on the pit wall exactly opposite the spot where a marshal ran across the track with a fire extinguisher and was hit by Tom Pryce in his Shadow, killing both. It was a horrific thing to witness from a few feet away and desperately sad to see Tom’s young wife utterly distraught on the flight back to London. Yet again I asked myself why I was involved in this and, to make matters worse, Robin had to leave Formula One to me in order to concentrate once again on Formula Two. Neither Ian nor Alex lived up to our hopes, or would have been able to help us develop a revolutionary six-wheel car. After all the initial promise, it turned out to be a very uninspiring season.
I was spending an increasing amount of time on FOCA business with Bernie and, at the same time, both Robin and I had just about exhausted our enthusiasm for carrying on competing in Formula One. When we received an offer to sell March’s Formula One assets to the ATS team, we took it; and by late autumn 1977, at the end of our eighth season, we got out of Formula One. March was now solely a commercial racing car builder and no longer needed me. We had very competent people to sell the cars and Robin was able to take overall charge both technically and commercially. I remained a director of the company, but sold my shares to Robin and had no further direct involvement in the company we had built.
Our cars had been immensely successful. During the 1970s March won a large number of Japanese and European championships, as well as innumerable American championships and racing series. We became the world’s biggest and most successful commercial racing car constructors and, at that time, the European Formula Two Championship was not far behind Formula One. Its prestige only started to decline when the established Formula One drivers stopped taking part but, even then, each race was a major event in its own right and attracted large crowds.
With such clear superiority in all the main racing categories you would have expected March to be a leading Formula One team. That we were not was almost certainly because we never found a major sponsor. Had I found the money, I think we would have established ourselves consistently among the elite teams. Then we might even have given up the commercial racing car business or hived it off as a separate company. When Bernie took over Brabham at the end of 1971, it had a thriving business building cars for Formula Two, Three and similar categories, just like March. But he found it very difficult and soon gave up to concentrate on Formula One. I am sure we would have been frontrunners in Formula One had we been able to do the same.
The point was proved after we stopped Formula One and I left. Robin went on to great success in American oval racing, which takes place on oval-shaped circuits usually with banked corners (unlike almost all race circuits in Europe and around the world – including America – which have corners like ordinary roads) and in those days was every bit as competitive and technically sophisticated as Formula One. He started by selling an adapted Formula One car to an American team. It worked really well and other sales followed. The same technical and production team that had been so successful in European Formula Two then began producing cars for the top American single-seat championship and March became th
e leading producer of these cars. At one point, of 33 cars starting the Indianapolis 500, no fewer than 31 were built by March in Bicester. In this period, March came through the elaborate Indianapolis qualifying procedures to gain pole position five times and record five victories in succession from 1983.
Understandably, Robin became a sort of icon at Indianapolis. He would go to a car, listen to the driver’s comments on how the car was handling and advise the team on adjustments to improve the set-up. Because he was always able to make the car perform better, his skill would motivate the driver to improve his lap time. Inevitably, there was a certain amount of jealousy among the old Indianapolis hands and there was a story (apocryphal, I’m sure) that it sometimes amused him to make meaningless changes to the set-up, whereupon the driver would nevertheless immediately improve his lap time. ‘Two clicks on rebound on the left rear damper’ was said to be one of his favourites, something even the most expert driver would find difficult to detect. But they couldn’t argue with the results. Robin called it blessing the car and his services were much in demand.
March went on to become a public company traded on the stock exchange but, in the end, even Robin had had enough. The moment came on a flight to Miami. He sealed his decision with a quantity of brandy large enough to prompt a humorous customs official in the arrival hall to suggest he should perhaps pay alcohol duty on himself.
There is much more to tell about Robin, including his adventures in rallying, but that must be left for him. He made a great contribution to British motor sport. As for me, giving up running a team was far from the end of my immersion in Formula One. I was about to become ever more entangled in the sport, its politics and the battle to transform and control it.
9
FOCA: THE EARLY DAYS