LUNCH WITH…
WALLY WILLMOTT, BUILDER OF THE EARLY MCLARENS
Although Wal wasn’t initially part of Bruce Mclaren’s inner circle, their relationship developed quickly from mechanic to constructor, confidant, and close friend during the construction of the ‘Cooper’ that Bruce raced in the 1964 Tasman Series. Texan Chaparral founder Jim Hall was, like Bruce, a gifted engineer / racing driver, and they all became firm friends.
Wal explains, “Jim was preparing a car to race at Nassau in the Bahamas, and I lent a hand, but then he invited me to go with them — all expenses paid. I was mightily impressed by the sports cars with big capacity American V8s. There was good prize money to be won if it was done right, and any spare time during the Tasman Series was spent talking about big-engine sports cars to race in America.”
It is important to remember that, at the time, the ‘Mclaren organization’ had two staff members — Eoin Young and Wal — and no premises.
“Bruce was, understandably, apprehensive about the investment required to build a car on one side of the Atlantic, then take it to the other side to race. Eventually, he bought a car that had started life as an F1 [Formula 1] Cooper and had been ‘expanded’ to become a sports car. An all-alloy 3.9-litre Oldsmobile V8 was part of the deal to replace the 2.7-litre Climax — from the moment the car arrived from the States, it was full on,” Wally says.
Mclaren central
When Wal arrived back in England after the 1964 Tasman Series, he needed to secure new living accommodation. Where he ended up, he recalls, was, “One of the more memorable residences for quite a few people. Forever known as ‘The Castle’, it was a grand home owned by a diplomat who was on an extended stay overseas. Because of its size and rental price being outside the norm, it had sat on the agent’s books for some time. For us, it was perfect — Eoin Young, myself, Tyler Alexander, Teddy Mayer for a while, Chris Amon for a while, and whoever needed a bed; all were welcome. The parties were held for any excuse and were some of the best.”
First time out
Working around the clock, Wal and
Tyler Alexander — a new recruit from Boston, who was Timmy Mayer’s mechanic — showed what could be achieved by a pair of talented, hardworking enthusiastic kindred spirits.
As Wal remembers, “Most people wouldn’t have believed it possible — we were working to an absurd timetable, but Bruce wanted the car on the grid at Oulton Park for the first Saturday in April. As it turned out, we encountered the sorts of dramas you get from a hastily prepared car, but we’d done enough for Bruce to attract trade money from Dunlop and BP.”
Workshop capers
There was a lot of work to do in the three weeks before the car would have its second race in Bruce’s hands — at Silverstone, where the opposition would include Jim Clark in the Lotus 30 with a 4.7-litre Ford V8.
“We won, although we were almost too tired to celebrate,” says Wally. “Then, on the Sunday, back in ‘workshop’, we started modifying the chassis for the Oldsmobile engine that would power the car in our North American debut — at Mosport in Canada in 35 days’ time.”
By then, the trio had agreed that a new, stiffer chassis was needed. While Wal and Tyler beavered away in the shed, the boss had been sketching.
“Bruce was a great one for his sketches and models so that we could all visualize how each part should be built and look. There were no drawings. Sometimes the three of us would scratch out an outline on the dirt floor, debate how to do it, and then do it — by which time, we’d all walked over the lines in the dirt.”
Wal was able to adapt Bruce’s sketches into components, and both he and Tyler fabricated every part of that car.
“The car had to be ready to leave Heathrow on the last Saturday of May, so we had this massive deadline but, at the same time, we knew that it had to be right and that any shortcuts would be found out,” Wal explains.
Ready to race
Astonishingly, the car was ready for a shakedown test at Goodwood before the flight: “Simply to make sure everything worked — especially because it had the Oldsmobile in it for the first time. It didn’t have a body because that was still being worked on, but, even so, Bruce was able to get enough of a feel to make suggestions for suspension, roll-bar, and tyrepressure adjustments. After that test, we had three days to fit the body before getting it to Heathrow. The car arrived in New York on the morning of 1 June, and Tyler and I got there that afternoon; the car was loaded on a trailer and we were bound for Canada. I’m not sure if either of us thought at the time that we’d built this car in one country one day, and the next day we’d arrived in another country.
“The main opposition at Mosport comprised the Chaparrals of Hall and Roger Penske, plus Dan Gurney and AJ Foyt — all with wellfunded teams and proven cars. However, in a dream debut for a team comprising a pair of Kiwis and a Massachusite, they won. After all that scheming, worry, and hard work, it was all very emotional — that night, as a release I guess, we partied big time,” Wally tells us.
Onwards and upwards
A replacement for the car that had just won on debut was already being planned for as soon as the trio reunited back in England.
“At Mosport, Bruce had been offered incentives to race in their series, starting back there in late September, so had to design and build that new car, plus an updated model for the 1965 Tasman Series,” Wally says. “For the first eight of the 12 weeks, we had to do all of this; Bruce would be away racing in F1 or the Ford GT.”
Wally, a 23-year-old auto electrician from Timaru, was tasked with leading a programme that would have been ambitious for even Lotus or Cooper.
Memories
Ask Wal about significant memories of those early days of racing the sports cars in North America — before the introduction of a championship in the form of Can-am in 1966 — and, in a flash, he’s back in 1964, at the Los Angeles Times Grand Prix at Riverside to be exact, the second race for the M1 after its promising debut at Mosport.
“There are several explanations needed before we start,” Wal says. “Roger Penske was driving Jim Hall’s Chaparral because Jim had had a big off at Mosport and had broken his arm. Probably the most important bit is the fact that the Chaparrals were running what we were told at the time was an ‘automatic’ gearbox. Jim and the team went on to enhance the mystery by making close-fitting covers to be slipped over the transmission whenever the bodywork was raised. In fact, it was not an automatic gearbox at all but simply a torque converter in front of a two-
speed dog gearbox, which included a neutral.
“The process of starting/driving the car was that it was first warmed up with the transmission in neutral, then the engine was switched off and the low gear engaged before the car was restarted. The car was then held stationary with the brakes before the revs were raised and the brakes released. When maximum revs were reached, the driver simply lifted off on the throttle and snatched the higher ratio — a similar procedure was used for the downshift. The downside of this was that, whilst being held in gear and running, the torque converter was generating heat by being held at stall.”
Icing the pump
“Another aside,” says Wally, “was that
Jim Clark was running the still-new Lotus 30, a car that we all felt at the time was Colin Chapman’s attempt to show Ford what they were missing out on by not giving him the Le Mans project. The 30 had a full fibreglass shell mounted to a chassis in the manner of the Elan, and access to the components — fairly important on a race car — was via some small hatches. In his wisdom, the designer (which Colin always claimed to be) had put a mechanical (belt-driven) fuel pump low down on the front of the motor. The hot conditions of Riverside that weekend caused it to vapour lock every time the motor was switched off and the heat got to the pump. The solution to this problem was that, after practice, the boys had fabricated a ‘chute’ out of aluminium, through which they could drop ice down onto the pump and cool it long enough to get the motor started and running again.”
Start-line slapstick
“The event itself was on a grand scale by most standards,” explains Wal. “Records say that 82 cars were entered, and 41 started after being culled on Saturday. Big prize money was on offer. Race start time came around, and on the front row of the grid were Bruce, Walt Hansgen, Jimmy Clark, and Roger Penske [who was] driving Jim Hall’s car. After much fanfare and promotion, the starter signalled ‘start you engines’ and the countdown began. Unfortunately, way down the back of the grid, there was still someone with a welding plant doing some repairs, and the countdown was halted whilst the offending crew member was removed. The delay caused a great deal of consternation among the arm-waving drivers, who were sitting in cars starting to overheat — but none more so than the Chaparrals, which not only had their motors getting hot, but [also] their ‘automatic’ gearboxes going into meltdown.
“When the flag finally dropped, Hap Sharp in his Chaparral took off like a rocket from his position well down the grid and had passed many cars before he had even reached the start line. Unfortunately for Hap, and even more so for the cars behind him, his transmission lunched itself shortly afterwards, dropping a huge quantity of transmission fluid onto the track. A large number of the following cars — I’m guessing at least five — spun off the track in all directions on hitting the oil, just missing the sidelined Chaparral, and the race was immediately red flagged, meaning that, as they came around at the end of the first lap, the leading/running cars were stopped in order and reformed onto the grid with their engines silent.
“Cement was spread onto the oil to contain it and dry it up; because there was a huge amount of oil, a huge amount of cement was used. The track maintenance team started working with brooms and shovels to try to remove this large amount of product. Time was ticking by, and progress was slow. After a period, the drivers were invited to inspect the track and pass an opinion as to whether they thought it safe enough to resume the race — they gave a united resounding ‘no’. Then someone had a bright idea: if a helicopter was available, it could come in and blow the remaining cement away.”
Wally, a 23-year-old auto electrician from Timaru, was tasked with leading a programme that would have been ambitious for even Lotus or Cooper
Helicopters to the rescue
“What happened next,” recalls Wal, “was that there were two helicopters at the track, and both pilots went to get their machines. The first to arrive was something like a M*A*S*H bubble Bell — flown very professionally, and, with the aid of officials, guided carefully down through the many wires used for the PA system. It then hovered over the offending cement. The result was that dust filled the air and was blown over the cars and the grandstands, while we tried to cover carburettors/cars/drivers by any means possible. After a short burst of this, drivers were again asked to inspect the track, and it was generally agreed that racing could/ should resume.”
What about the Lotus 30?
“Their guys had run out of their on-hand ice supply,” says Wally. “In desperation, they had formed a human chain up to the iced tea caravan and were buying iced tea in paper cups and handing it down the line in their attempt to get the pump cool with ice so as to be ready for the next start. With drivers back in their cars and the starter back on his podium, countdown for the restart was begun. Motors started, and the flag was raised. At this point, the second, much smaller and much less professionally piloted, helicopter arrived. Completely without guidance, it had descended through the wires and was now hovering only a couple of feet off the ground in front of a field of cars with their motors running and a starter with a raised flag who was not looking ahead but back towards the waiting cars.”
Black hawk down
“All the drivers on the first couple of rows, who could see what was happening, started raising their arms and pointing, in an effort to bring the situation to the starter’s attention,” Wally remembers. “Suspecting now that something was amiss, he turned, and, on seeing the helicopter, started wildly waving for the helicopter to get away. About now, the pilot saw the reality, and in panic put the machine into climb, get-out-of-here mode, only to find that he had climbed the tail rotor into the PA wires, which served to remove the tail rotor. The picture of the thing spinning without its tail rotor — at street-pole height — above the track in front of the fired-up start pack is still with me. It had not done too many revolutions before the pilot had the presence of mind to kill the motor and let it crash to the ground in almost the exact spot that Hap had dumped his oil, and, right there, it leaked fuel.
“In my recollection, it bounced when it landed, but, before the rebound — and on the moment of impact — both occupants were out and running. All drivers switched off their engines. By now, it was Keystone Cops — photographers were everywhere.
“A team of track officials gathered, trying to move the thing off the track. By assembling a few people on each side, they were able to raise it off the ground by lifting it by its skids, and they started to carry it away from the scene. What they didn’t know was that, on crash landing, the helicopter had severely damaged its skids, to the point at which, after travelling only a matter of feet, one broke off completely, which allowed the thing to fall lopsided back to the ground. Now, as fate would have it, right under one of the main rotor blades, and in the falling path of it,
We could probably do a lunch-with for every time Wal was with Bruce — he has enough stories for a book, many of which have little to do with the actual racing
was a photographer with his eye only to his camera. The impact of the blade laid him out cold, so, to add to the occasion, an ambulance was called onto the track.”
So who won?
“Parnelli Jones in a Cooper King Cobra, but after the prelude to the race, the finish was an anti-climax,” replies Wally.
We could probably do a lunch-with for every time Wal was with Bruce — he has enough stories for a book, many of which have little to do with the actual racing. For example, there’s the one about the device that the Mclaren boys devised to fire turnips over Surbiton at their friends at Cooper …