Rush to Glory: FORMULA 1 Racing's Greatest Rivalry (39 page)

He had better luck with the Sports Writers’ Association, which named him the
Daily Express
Sportsman of the Year, and 300 people cheered him as he arrived to receive the award at the Savoy Hotel. Everyone who was there that night remembered Jane Birbeck dressed to the nines in a stunning gown that left little to the imagination.

By then Hunt was getting very tired, and even his legendary reserves of energy were being depleted. As he said, “My personal freedom is something I had worked for, for so long, and now it seems completely gone. I am simply not my own man anymore.”

In mid-December he flew to Paris with John Hogan for the FIA Awards, where the championship trophies were officially bestowed on the winning drivers. And so on December 17, he finally got his hands on the world championship trophy and saw his name engraved upon it, where it would remain for all time.

He was the 37th winner, and he couldn’t have loved it more.

CHAPTER
31

Postscript

James Hunt and Niki Lauda

1976–2011

F
or Niki Lauda, the 1976 season turned out not to be about his close battle with James Hunt for the Formula One world championship, but all about his accident and recovery.

But there was no doubting his disappointment at losing out to Hunt; he felt that, but for the accident, he would have been world champion again.

No official statement was ever released by Ferrari as to the cause of the accident. Only Ermanno Cuoghi, Lauda’s chief mechanic, ventured an explanation. As for Lauda, he said, “I recollect nothing. Not a damn thing. Except a big black hole.”

After many skin grafts, Lauda’s face was made reasonably presentable, and his eyelids were rebuilt with plastic surgery. But angry scars remained, and no attempt was made to replace the missing half of his right ear; he always jested that it made it easier for him to talk on the telephone.

Lauda was always unconcerned with the physical changes to his face and body. As he said, “My talent for overriding my emotions by staying detached and objective served me well. There was really no point in having a complex about losing half an ear. Take a good look at yourself in the mirror—that’s you, that’s the way you are. And if people don’t like you that way, you might as well forget them. I’m not going to have cosmetic surgery. As long as they function unimpaired, I don’t feel the need.”

The accident seemed to have no lasting effects on him, although he admitted he was unsure of the psychological effects. Since then he has had only one flashback to the accident: in 1984, when he inadvertently smoked a cannabis cigarette, which caused hallucinations and memories of the flames. He then had complete and accurate recall of what had happened after the accident, and he replayed it in his mind. He remembered: “Suddenly it hit me: Nürburgring and the intensive care unit.”

For the 1977 season he stayed with Ferrari and won the world championship again, this time with relative ease. But the relationship with Enzo Ferrari was effectively over when Carlos Reutemann was hired after his accident. So when Bernie Ecclestone offered him $1 million to drive for the Brabham-Alfa Romeo team in 1978, he readily accepted.

Apart from flashes of brilliance and the brief appearance of the famous Brabham fan car, it was a career mistake and probably cost him two more world championships, although he became very rich. He lasted two years at Brabham before he became fed up with not winning and abruptly retired in the middle of the Canadian Grand Prix, at the age of 29. Ironically, he left just as Ecclestone dumped the Alfa Romeo engine for a Ford-Cosworth and the Brabham became competitive again.

Lauda needed every dollar he earned in Formula One for when he started his own airline, called Lauda Air. On the day he retired, he flew to California and started negotiations to buy a brand-new McDonnell Douglas DC10.

He expanded the airline, rapidly ordering Boeings as well; by 1982 had spent all his earnings from Formula One and more.

So he sought a comeback at the age of 33 and found some willing takers, notably John Hogan of Marlboro and Ron Dennis, who by then had bought the McLaren team from Teddy Mayer. Hogan and Dennis paid him a reputed $2.4 million a year to reprise his role as team leader, initially partnering John Watson and then Alain Prost.

It was another successful period, and although well past his best, he was good enough to win a third world championship title in 1984. He raced on until 1985, when he finally retired for good.

He went to back to his airline, which was thriving again, and became a consultant for the Ferrari team, which was back in the doldrums. For over 10 years he worked hard and built Lauda Air into a large concern. But in the end it was wracked by internal politics, and he was ousted from his own company as it was taken over by Austrian Airlines in 1999. He sold all his shares in 2000.

All this time, Lauda had been keeping in touch with Formula One by commentating regularly for RTL, the German television station. In 2001 he was surprisingly hired by the Jaguar Formula One team as its team principal, earning $4 million a year, a role that lasted for two years until he was ousted by an internal putsch.

During all these adventures, he gradually grew apart from his wife, Marlene, and split from her in 1991, just as he had from Mariella in 1975. After having had two children, Mathias and Lukas, they too had fallen out of love. Because of the accident, their relationship had been very special, but just as he had with Mariella, Lauda coldly ended it.

Lauda talked openly about the end of his marriage and described how it came to an end after a bizarre conversation with Marlene at the family home in Spain. As he recalled: “I took her [Marlene] out for a walk and I said to her, ‘Listen, I think we should get divorced,’ and she said, ‘I think that’s a good idea.’” Having expected a somewhat more robust reaction, Lauda admitted he was taken aback. His attitude to her was, “Oh really?” To which she replied, “I’ve got my life,” and he said, ‘Okay, tell me what you want. You can have anything you want.’”

Her demands were modest. She told him: “I want the house, I want the donkey, I want the cat and the dog and the three chickens.” By this time Lauda was getting annoyed at how easy it all was. He had expected a fight and outrageous demands. He replied, “Fucking fine, help yourself woman. I couldn’t give a shit.”

Lauda later confided in John Hogan, the man he had enlisted to help him get married all those years ago: “Well, the dogs, the horses, and cats and the donkey, and all the other shit, that’s what drove me mad anyway. Then I realized I’m stuck with two houses in Austria, fucking airplanes, cars, all this fucking shit that I don’t want anyway. And she’s got the stuff I want.” It was an astonishing reaction to the end of a relationship that had once been his life. But then, it had been the same with Mariella once.

He then took a leaf out of James Hunt’s book and became a playboy, chasing girls around the fleshpots of Europe. Lauda spent the next 15 years reliving the youth he never had. He also laid down plans to launch a new airline based on the low-cost Southwestern Airlines model.

In 2003 he acquired the bankrupt airline Aero Lloyd and changed its name to FlyNiki. To finance it he formed a joint venture with Air Berlin, each owning half the shares. It grew quickly, and now the airline flies out of Vienna International Airport and has 14 Airbus jets and 7 Embraer 190s, looked after by 650 full-time staff.

One disappointment lay with his two sons, who tried to establish themselves as racing drivers. But neither proved to be fast enough, and their careers eventually dwindled.

His playboy days ended only when he fell for one of his airline stewardesses, Birgit Wetzinger. She donated him a kidney, which he badly needed as a relic of the accident. In 2008 they had twins—a boy and a girl. They married in 2009.

With his business and personal life back on track, he settled down. Now at 63 years old, his life is lived largely free of drama.

Not so James Hunt, who almost inevitably was not destined to live a life into old age. As soon as his world championship was won, some of the fire seemed to go out of his belly.

Straightaway, the 1977 Formula One season did not start well for him, and the new McLaren-Ford M26 was nowhere as good as the M23. It took six months to turn the M26 into a race winner, and by then the fight for the championship was over. But he had a memorable win at the British Grand Prix at Silverstone in July. By the end of the season, after a season in the doldrums, he had reestablished himself as the quickest man on the track. He won two of the last three races in America and Japan and finished fifth in the championship. But if the world championship had been decided on the results in the latter half of the season, he would have been champion again. As it was, Niki Lauda seized back his crown.

Hunt began 1978 with real hopes of becoming champion again. But it was not to be. Nineteen seventy-eight was the year of ground effects, and the M26 was rendered obsolete. He never won again, getting on the podium just once, in France. He scored only eight world championship points.

His last season with McLaren was greatly affected by Ronnie Peterson’s fatal crash in the Italian Grand Prix, for which he was partly responsible. Afterwards he blamed a young Italian driver, Ricardo Patrese, for causing the crash. He began a lifelong feud with Patrese, although later video evidence showed Hunt was as much to blame for the crash as was he.

Disillusioned with McLaren, he left for Walter Wolf’s team in 1979, in effect his old Hesketh team, after being offered a $1 million salary by Wolf. But the Wolf car, designed by Harvey Postlethwaite, the old Hesketh designer, was terrible, and after he received the first half of his $1 million salary, he abruptly retired midseason at the Monaco Grand Prix.

Retirement proved a mistake, and he considered a comeback more than a few times but couldn’t bring himself to make the decision to return. Instead he became a commentator for the BBC, a role that continued for 13 years right up to his death. Viewers loved him, and the combination with Murray Walker, although fractious initially, developed into something that was cherished by the audience. Eventually Hunt became better known for his commentary role on television than for his driving.

Two years after he retired, he decided to forgo tax exile and move back to Britain, buying a house in the leafy suburbs of Wimbledon, near London. But his retirement was dominated by three things: money, women, and his dog, Oscar. Hunt formed a very close relationship with his German shepherd dog, and the two became a familiar presence around London.

His private life was increasingly turbulent. Despite being with Jane Birbeck for six years, he was associated with a succession of beautiful women, whom he squired to various social functions. He always preferred to turn up to formal functions in bare feet and jeans. The Birbeck liaison lasted for six years, but she was well aware that he was incapable of being faithful to her. Many times she would open a newspaper or magazine and see a photo of her boyfriend with a glamorous woman on his arm.

During that time, Hunt had many high-profile relationships, including Valentine Monnier, a supermodel. Monnier was a serious rival to Jane, who took a long time to adjust to her boyfriend’s chronic unfaithfulness. Hunt tried to hide it from her, but there were too many affairs. Jane Birbeck never spoke publicly about it, but it was often impossible to hide her disappointment, and she had to endure some pretty humiliating, and sometimes very public, putdowns.

Eventually they settled down to a form of domestic bliss, disturbed by her frequent miscarriages. The miscarriages initially brought them closer together, and many people say Hunt’s time with Jane Birbeck was his happiest, including his close friend David Gray. Gray recalls: “They were both very funny together—very. It was all extraordinarily funny, and he was very loyal to her.”

After he split with Jane, he gave her the London mews they had shared and left her very secure.

He then met a vivacious girl named Sarah Lomax, fell in love and married her, and they had two children, Freddie and Tom. But it was a high-maintenance, turbulent relationship that involved far too much alcohol and was destined to end in divorce. He continued to be an extensive user of alcohol, tobacco, and also cocaine and marijuana.

During that period of his second divorce, Hunt fought depression and alcoholism. He also ran into severe money problems, as Sarah took him for everything he had in the divorce. He had previously lost a lot of money on the Lloyds insurance market.

But he took his new frugal circumstances well, changing from a Mercedes car to an Austin A35 van and virtually ending his hectic social life, which included giving up drinking. Where he could, he chose to cycle around London. By then he was a very highly regarded and highly paid broadcaster at the BBC, and he and Murray Walker had become a national institution.

In the final years of his life, he met Helen Dyson, a struggling artist. She eventually moved in with him, and on his last night alive, he reputedly proposed marriage.

He died of a heart attack at the age of 45 on June 15, 1993, in the early morning, at his home in Wimbledon. His death led the news bulletins that day and was largely blamed on his past overexuberant lifestyle. Ironically, at the time of his death, he had given up drugs, drink, and cigarettes. He was cremated at Putney Vale Crematorium, and later in the year, there was a memorial service in London, notable for the number of women of a certain age sitting in the pews.