Rush to Glory: FORMULA 1 Racing's Greatest Rivalry (33 page)

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 regulations 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

T
he 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.

The TV companies had 14 days to prepare for the showdown, and all the satellites that transmitted TV pictures were quickly booked up. And so too were all the airline seats to Tokyo.

But there was a downside for the man at the center of it all. Suddenly James Hunt became bothered by all the attention he was getting. Overnight, it seemed everyone wanted a piece of him, and it spooked him. All the pressure was on him, as Niki Lauda was now virtually a recluse as a result of his facial injuries. Hunt found it all rather overwhelming, and his new fame did not rest easily on his shoulders.

Uncomfortable with the attention, Hunt wondered whether it was going to his head. As he said, he was worried he might start believing his own press: “People spend a lot of time telling you how clever you are, and it’s very easy to believe. I’ve seen too many people become victims of such flattery and start taking themselves too seriously. That’s when they destroy themselves and their personalities.”

In truth, things became so extreme in Japan that, for the first time, Hunt found he was not enjoying his racing. As he said, “I try to be myself, but I worry that I’ve lost the ability to enjoy life. I’m a tax exile, but England is where my heart is and where my friends are. And everywhere, the demands on my time are so great that already my private life is shot to hell, and I feel the loss of close friends. The main problem in this business is that you lose your individuality. Whatever you do or say is watched. You are used as evidence against yourself.” There were signs of paranoia setting in, but there is no question it was a difficult time.

Luckily, Hunt found his oasis just in time. The McLaren team was booked into the luxurious Tokyo Hilton in downtown Tokyo. Japanese hotels were then the very best in the world. The rooms were loaded with gadgetry unknown in the West and the decor was minimalist. As soon as he arrived in Tokyo, he checked in and found the Hilton was a giant playground for someone like himself. Once in the confines of the hotel, he was unmolested, and so he set out to have a good time in the few days before the race. With his privacy guarded by the hotel staff, he tried to distract himself by stepping up his physical fitness routine to new levels. He was constantly in the Hilton’s state-of-the-art gym: running, swimming, and playing squash every day. In the evening he was flexing his mental skills by playing backgammon with anyone who was around, and he won over $1,000 that week.

But the hotel’s headwaiter blanched when Hunt wanted to play backgammon in the main restaurant during dinner. He had already made an exception and let the famous racing driver into the restaurant with no shoes on. When the backgammon board appeared, he told Hunt the restaurant was not a “playhouse.” Hunt reportedly responded, “The whole world is a playhouse” and carried on playing. The headwaiter was overruled by the hotel’s manager, anxious to do anything to please the eccentric famous young Englishman who was spending (Teddy Mayer’s) money like water.