James Hunt: The man behind the playboy façade

There’s no escaping that much of the negative reporting about Hunt was true. In F1 he stood out as, in Murray Walker’s words, an “arrogant, self-opinionated Hooray Henry” who seemed to enjoy the benefits of a gilded lifestyle. His early arrival in F1 with Lord Hesketh’s team did nothing to soften that perception. Hesketh Racing had a paddock repute for turning up in Rolls-Royces, booking five-star hotels and drinking champagne irrespective of the result.

Hunt often showed up half drunk in jeans, a T-shirt and no shoes, happily sneering at rivals in immaculate tuxedos and expensive watches. His McLaren contract was reportedly delayed because the team insisted he wear a suit at events.

While he struggled with authority, the same could never be said with partying. He took cocaine, smoked weed and chased women with the same enthusiasm he chased race wins. McLaren team boss Alastair Caldwell once said: “People will always be interested in James because he had real charisma. He could start a party at a bus stop in Bognor Regis. If the bus didn’t come, he’d flag down a car full of girls and get a party going.”

Even Hunt’s race overalls thumbed their nose at convention with a patch that read “Sex, breakfast of champions”.

Hunt was a born competitor who excelled at school cricket and played tennis and squash for his county. He loved winning but had little interest in the technical side of racing cars and struggled with motivation later in his career. The ‘Hunt the Shunt’ nickname may have stuck because it rhymed, but he did himself no favours.

Marshals were not always safe either. At the 1975 Monaco Grand Prix Hunt, enraged by Patrick Depailler, he refused to leave the circuit and a marshal was punched in the face in the chaos. At the 1977 Canadian Grand Prix, he punched another marshal outright after being pushed off the track by Jochen Mass.

After quitting the sport on the instant of retiring from the 1979 Monaco Grand Prix, controversy continued followed him into his second career — commentary. Preparing for his first broadcast at the 1980 Monaco Grand Prix, he arrived dishevelled, half-cut and carrying a bottle of wine. The meticulous Murray Walker was horrified when Hunt immediately sent a runner for another bottle.

Hunt’s commentary style raised eyebrows. During the 1979 British Grand Prix he called Jean-Pierre Jarier “pig ignorant” and “half asleep” for failing to let Alan Jones through, then tore into Jacky Ickx for the same offence: “Surprising in one so experienced but then I think he’s suffering from old age a bit.”

Jarier caught more flak at the 1983 Austrian Grand Prix for the same offence. As Walker skirted around the issue with characteristic decorum, Hunt machine-gunned back that Jarier had “the mental age of ten” and that “for being himself he should have a permanent suspension.”

Behind Hunt’s swagger, though, was a sensitive man who fought harder than most to reach F1 and struggled more than many with the fame that came afterwards. The aristocratic assumptions were wrong. In 1968 he earned less than £100 a month at Telephone Rentals and bought his first car and engine on hire purchase, which he did not finish paying off until reaching Formula 3. He often slept in press rooms at circuits to avoid B&B costs.

Speaking to Thames Television in 1976, he described building his first racing car entirely by himself because he could not pay anyone else to do it. He admitted he hated mechanical work and knew nothing about engines but did it because he had no choice.

Former teammates later shattered Hunt’s air of extreme confidence revealing the extent of his nerves. Hunt often vomited before races and trembled on the grid enough that mechanics thought the engine was running. He was terrified of dying. “I’m having a jolly good time down here,” Hunt said in the Thames interview, “and I really don’t want to change it.”

His conscience also ran deeper than many assumed. He was devastated by the death of Ronnie Peterson in 1978, whom he had helped pull from his burning car at Monza. McLaren boss Caldwell believed Hunt blamed himself for the accident, despite Riccardo Patrese taking the heat publicly.

As a commentator Hunt used his platform to speak up, too. While covering one South African Grand Prix, he launched into an attack on apartheid live on air, ignoring producers pleading with him to stop. It later emerged that he secretly attended meetings supporting anti-apartheid groups and wanted to stop his commentary from being broadcasted in South Africa, donating his fee to groups working for change in the country when his wish wasn’t granted.

Taormina Rieck, who grew up around Hunt, felt his life came in three phases: the grounded young man clawing his way into racing, the public figure created by fame and expectation, and finally the commentator who returned to his true self.

Retired from racing, the dog lover who took his Alsatian, Oscar, everywhere chose a modest life. He drove an Austin A35 van and became a budgerigar breeder, refusing to trade on his fame even in that small world. He never saw himself as special and often said he felt lucky rather than proud of his achievements.

Hunt’s story ended suddenly on 15^th June 1993 when he suffered a fatal heart attack at his home in Wimbledon. He was just 45. In the years following his retirement he had moderated the excesses that once defined him and was settling into a calmer, more grounded life.

His death shocked the sport and those who knew him, not because he had lived recklessly but because he had finally begun to find peace after a lifetime lived at 200mph.

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Images courtesy of Getty Images.