PRUETT: Befriending the Badass – Justin Wilson

I closed my eyes and prayed for Justin Wilson’s recovery about a dozen times Sunday and Monday. Inevitably, moments after asking for a miracle, and struck by the severity of his injuries, those prayers were followed by a loud and unrepentant “God dammit.”

My wife wasn’t pleased to repeatedly hear a prayer followed by a curse, but she understood the inner conflict. And I’d suspect I wasn’t alone in that circular torrent of faith and frustration. Once news of the big man’s death made the rounds Monday afternoon, those frustrations turned into a whirlwind of confusion and tears. Are you kidding? Justin?! This makes no sense. Seriously? It feels like a question one could spend a lifetime trying to answer.

Those tears, for what it’s worth, had nothing to do with the loss of a racecar driver. It was for the man whose talents transcended his immense abilities in the cockpit. Justin touched many lives in his 37 years, and the impact of his friendship – just was as the word implies – hit hard and was deeply felt.  

You've probably heard the same thing over and over again since Monday: He was universally liked, the nicest guy in the paddock. Those are wonderfully accurate descriptions, and attributes everyone should aspire to possess, but they are also incredibly thin measurements of a person's character.

• We live somewhat nomadic lives in this sport, and for those of us with families, being away from home on a regular basis exacts a personal toll.

You miss your wife, your husband, or your kids. Some, however, might look at a few days away from home as a mini-vacation, but that wasn’t Justin’s mindset. He was constantly on the phone to his wife, or his little girls, and it was out of desire instead of duty. He spoke of the anguish that came from his wife Julia calling with a house-related problem while dealing with a newborn, and how he wanted nothing more than to get on a plane to take the burden off of her. He also spoke of learning to listen when she was frustrated by his absence, and realized being silent on the other end of the phone was important at those times.

• And because he was a funny bastard, Justin also spoke of knowing that however bad his race weekend might have gone, the last person who wanted to hear about trivial problems involving going in circles all afternoon was his wife: “I could have been there going for the win and had my gearbox break, or whatever, and been really upset, but then she’s been home all weekend with a baby who’s throwing up or filling her diaper once an hour, and you know what, I’ve learned to just shut up, ask how she’s doing, and walk through the door as Dad, not the guy who’s mad at the world for losing the race on Sunday. She’d kick me in the nuts if I came home and tried complaining about my problems…” [ABOVE: Indy 500 parade, 2013. LAT photo]

* Days after a stirring run to second place earlier this month for Andretti Autosport and Honda at the Mid-Ohio IndyCar race, Justin was in Monterey for the Pre-Historics – the quiet weekend of vintage racing that’s followed by the big Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion event. Here was one of the winningest IndyCar drivers in the field, having traveled across most of the country for an event that has few spectators and zero media coverage, for the chance to drive a slow-as-mud 1967 Porsche 911S racecar.  And he could not have been happier. His texts from the Pre-Historics were classic Justin – infused with passion and appreciation for the experience. [LEFT]

* Continuing the car theme, Justin was a throwback. He’s mostly known as an IndyCar driver, and before that, a Formula 1 pilot, but he wasn’t focused on any specific car or series. “I just love to drive racing cars,” he said on a regular basis. And it truly was that simple, too. Monaco. Daytona. Sebring. Indianapolis. Surfers Paradise. Watkins Glen. Le Mans. Moscow. Give him a Formula E car, a V8 Supercar, a Daytona Prototype, an Indy car, a go kart, or a freaking 800hp LMP2 car prepared to climb Pikes Peak – Justin would be there with his helmet and all that natural talent. In an era of specialization among drivers, Wilson modified the concept and specialized in whatever his 6-foot-4-inch frame could fit.

• Justin had a laugh at a photo I posted of JR Hildebrand during Indy 500 practice where JR’s eyes were bugged out. “I need one of those,” he said, and the next day, he obliged by making those big eyes as wide and wild as was possible…while strapped in and waiting to turn laps at impossible speeds. [BOTTOM]

• Justin had, by far, the best nickname in the sport, and as usual, it was rooted in humor. Wilson would have made a perfect Walmart greeter if he’d been born in the U.S. He was, as we know, ultra-nice, but as a young driver coming up in England’s open-wheel scene, the soft-spoken kid outside the car didn’t match the ass-kicking persona that emerged when it was time to race. Like a fat guy with the nickname “Slim,” Wilson was given the ill-fitting and perfectly ironic moniker of “Badass” in the Formula Palmer Audi days. Thankfully, it stuck, and for more than 15 years, people were thoroughly perplexed. Wilson? A badass? On the race track, yes. In person? Hardly.

• His efforts to take a leadership role in the IndyCar drivers’ association were not only warmly received, it was encouraged by the group. He was looked upon as the senior voice, even among Indy 500 winners and multiple IndyCar championship winners. It says a lot about the regard in which he was held. If a driver was needed to go hard at the series for the sake of the group, Wilson readily accepted the challenge.

• Continuing that thread, I was always struck how Wilson, who seemed to be in an annual fight to keep his current seat or find a new one, was willing to stand up and face whatever backlash from the series – or owners – on a topic the drivers needed addressed. I’m not saying some of the other stars of the series haven’t filled those shoes, or embraced a fight, but I did appreciate how Justin’s feeling of duty never wavered even when standing on less firm and less lucrative professional ground.

 
• This has been mentioned by many others, and fits with Justin’s status as a leader among leaders. At a time when drivers can’t wait to jump from their cars, grab their phones to engage Twitter and Instagram, and proceed to MF everyone they felt did them wrong in a race, Justin spared us from such trivial outbursts. On the flipside, I’ve seen Wilson go searching for a

driver who took him out of a race, or ruined his chances, and…had a civil discussion. I’m sure he wasn’t happy, but infantile rants weren’t his style, and nor was starting a Twitter war. Imagine that: A modern driver, with an active social media presence, choosing to speak to another driver in person and without throwing a wobbly.

• Justin and more than a few of the British drivers shared a love for chocolate, and specifically, chocolates from their native land. It was common for a Wilson or a Dario Franchitti to visit the UK, stockpile their favorite brands and varieties of chocolate, and return like a kid with an overflowing bag of Halloween candy to share with IndyCar’s Chocolate Brigade at the next race.

• We spent many months after the 2014 IndyCar season concluded discussing his best options for the future, and throughout every conversation, he stuck to his guns. He was thankful for his time with Dale Coyne’s scrappy band of overachievers [LEFT, with Julia and Jane after winning Watkins Glen in 2009], but at 37, and with the window closing on his open-wheel career, he wanted one last shot with a title contender. He came close to deals at other teams, and when everything – and I do mean everything – fell through, he had a chance to return to Coyne. It was the smart thing to do and with a wife, two young daughters, and a mortgage to pay, it was the safe thing to do.

Yet faced with taking the money or gambling on himself, Justin stepped out on faith and was soon rewarded with an opportunity at Andretti Autosport [ABOVE, Heading for second at Mid-Ohio. LAT photo]. It spoke volumes about the man, and it set an example for his family. He said he didn’t want to be the guy who settled, and instead made the hard and harrowing decision to join the unemployment line while holding out for something that would make him a happier person.

• It wasn't uncommon to get a text from Justin asking if you wanted something for dinner while working late. It was an offer of soup, or a sandwich, or whatever he could bring back while picking up a meal to take back to his motor coach. What an exceptional human being.

• For a man who seemed to have his own personal black cloud within sight at all times, Wilson’s indomitable spirit kept it at bay – on most occasions – even when his engine was a steamy puddle of failure or another driver ended his day with silly contact. Orbiting Justin Wilson was not only a treat, but also a reminder that no person and no situation can hold you down if you refuse to give in to the negativity that triggers failure or despair.

• As warm and friendly as he was, Justin’s mischievous sense of humor was a perfect balance for his Mr. Nice Guy reputation. We had some fun in July with IndyCar’s announcement that criticism of the series would be met with an iron fist, and posted our tongue-in-cheek story “Everything Is Awesome,” which used The Lego Movie’s theme song as a sarcastic ode to censorship. I nearly pissed myself laughing after he sent the text on the right from Mid-Ohio.

• To be clear, right up front, this next note is about something that was anything but a mission of mercy. Wilson suffered a bad crash at Fontana in 2013, his wife and kids were at home in Colorado, he was in the hospital on his own with fractures in his lower back and pelvis, and his brother Stefan had yet to arrive the morning after his accident. The portrait he painted over the phone sounded pitiful – he was bored stiff. With some extra time before my flight, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to embarrass Badass. I made a beeline for the closest 7-Eleven, bought about $50 worth of the nastiest, most suspect chocolate they had to offer, and kept loading the handheld basket until it was overflowing with garbage. For good measure, I threw in a couple bags of gut-bomb corn chips and something else I found at the counter…a cigar being sold in a replica machine gun shell. I have no idea how that one made it through the hospital’s metal detector. Regardless, the assorted mint flavors and other sins against snack food in the bag had me giggling the whole way to Justin’s room.

For once, my timing was perfect. I knocked, he welcomed me in, and I proceeded to dump most of the contents onto the blanket below his knees. Stunned by the avalanche of junk food, he rooted around until he found some of the less offensive chocolate brands, was scared of the corn chips, and asked why I brought him a giant bullet. With his lower extremities covered in nonsense, a nurse came in to do her rounds and did her best to ignore a patient that had become a hoarder of cheap chocolates since her last visit. Her disapproving looks were priceless, and after she left, we had an almighty laugh at the absurd scenario that had been visited upon him. He later said it took about six months to polish off the bag of goodies. Happy days.

• Justin's wry, running commentary during the previews for Avengers: Age of Ultron was more memorable than the movie itself. He was a comedic sniper, skilled at poking fun without getting mean. He’d gently stick the knife in, flash that big, toothy smile, and then it was on.

• He treated himself to a Porsche. It was used, of course – no need to waste money on something shiny and new when the same fun could be had at half the price. Justin was humble like that. And despite being the pillar among IndyCar drivers, the parent of the group, he also had a child-like innocence. That was on display after he took his Porsche to a local track in Colorado and proceeded to do his Lap of the Gods impression. It makes sense, right? Save up, buy the Porsche you’ve always wanted, and as an elite racer, it’s only natural to extract every drop of speed the car had to offer. Unfortunately, Kid Wilson forgot he then had to drive home, and I don’t remember whether he said it was raining or just cold, but after spending hours turning his Porsche’s treaded rear tires into slicks, he said the damn thing tried to kill him from the moment he left the track to the moment he pulled up at his house. “I didn’t really think about that part,” he said with a huge laugh. “I think I left all the traction at the circuit because it was trying to swap ends on me driving down the highway, even when I wasn’t turning the steering wheel…”  

• I’ll close with where we started – the family man. Justin’s most marketable and profitable talents came from driving racing cars, but he was beginning to plan for a future for himself and his family that centered on business and entrepreneurship. As a father, and with the responsibility of supporting his wife and daughters, Justin invested his savings in a few ventures, including one that was gaining momentum ahead of its launch. Wilson, along with a few partners, formed USWAG, a line of athletic socks that feature moisture wicking and, in a unique twist, has branding deals in place with a number of popular English soccer entities and also with IndyCar.

Again, it wasn’t the only business interest he had, but I was impressed by his forward-thinking approach to building long-term stability for his family in ways that did not involve risking his life in races. Knowing how hard he was working towards tomorrow, his premature death before USWAG and his other ventures were up and running is especially hard to swallow.

I’m not sure what else to say about the big man. Ask every IndyCar driver what they did the previous evening during a race weekend, and invariably, one or two would mention Justin’s name and something that involved laughter and fellowship [ABOVE, with Oriol Servia and Scott Dixon. LAT photo]. He was a dinner companion, a movie companion, and above all, he was a friend. He’d call, text, and check in unexpectedly to make sure you were OK. If those actions sound like something you’d associate with family, it’s because he was family to many of us. Most who I’ve spoken with since Monday are too shell-shocked to contemplate his absence. One can only imagine how his family is handling the loss of their rock. Considering the massive role he had in the IndyCar paddock--and as the anchor for so many people, his loss is too surreal to process or accept.

Cruelly, Justin was never crowned an IndyCar champion, but he doesn’t need his name engraved on a trophy to be remembered as the best among us. For those who got to know him, the big man was our undisputed champion of light, warmth, and love.

Thank you, Justin.

[ABOVE - Winning in Formula Vauxhall Junior in 1995. LAT photo]