I just heard the news that racing legend Jochen Mass died on May 4 at the age of 78. I knew he suffered a stroke in February and now, just a few months later, he succumbed to complications. Other articles you’ll read or have read will do a better job than this one does of highlighting his remarkable racing career. Quickly, though, among other exploits, Mass won a Formula 1 race as well as the 1989 running of the 24 Hours of Le Mans. Not too shabby.
I met Mass years after he retired from racing, and while we weren’t close, I aways enjoyed any time we spent together. I’ll pretend it was mutual. If nothing else, we always laughed when we saw each other.
His mischievous sense of humor wasn’t a secret; I remember the night we met. It was 2011 during festivities surrounding Mercedes-Benz’s 125th anniversary celebrations in Stuttgart, Germany. Mass was among the last team of drivers to achieve a Le Mans victory for Mercedes, so naturally he was there, along with a who’s who of stars and celebrities including tennis legend Boris Becker and Germany’s chancellor at the time, Angela Merkel.
I’ve always been a Le Mans fan, so I walked up to Mass and introduced myself. He looked down at my name badge, spread his arms wide, and erupted, “Herr Liebermann!” followed by a bunch of German. I understand enough Yiddish to have caught the drift of what he was saying (essentially, it’s nice to meet a German at a big party like this). I stopped him and said look again, there’s only one “N” in Lieberman, it’s Jewish, not German. He looked down, looked back up, smiled, and said, “Oh, well, that’s OK. Nice to meet you anyway.” He then grabbed my hand and we both started laughing, as we’d do for many years to come.
As a (mostly) Mercedes brand ambassador, Mass was a fixture on the fancy car party scene. I could count on seeing him several times a year at events like Pebble Beach, Amelia Island, and either of the two Goodwood events, the Festival of Speed and the Revival. When I was lucky enough to run the Mille Miglia, there was Mass in Brescia at the start of the race. Even though he was who he was (literal motorsports royalty) and I was some random car writer, he’d always make time for me.
He was a master of playing to an audience. Right after the Ron Howard movie Rush came out in 2013 (in which Mass played himself), I was with two friends at a party in Pebble Beach and I noticed him sitting by himself. I asked my friends, “You want to meet Jochen Mass?” You can guess their response. One of my buddies asked Mass what James Hunt was really like. Without missing a beat, Jochen launched into the most wonderful X-rated Hunt the Shunt story you could ask for. The down and dirty, nitty gritty that would never make a Hollywood film. Mass understood the assignment. It was exactly what my friends wanted to hear. Jochen kept looking at me from the corner of his eye and winking the whole time.
Fast forward a few years, and a bunch of us auto-journo types were at a Mercedes dinner in Florida with the guest of honor, Jochen Mass. Someone asked him what his favorite race car was. To a man who had 114 starts in F1 alone, I imagine this is like asking your accountant to talk about their favorite tax return. Still, Mass didn’t miss a beat. He began by explaining how excellent the Porsche 956 handled, how responsive and easy it was to drive. But of course, the 962 was a faster, and more successful racing machine. The Sauber-Mercedes he won Le Mans with was a handful, but effective. And then, like a comedian reading the room, he stopped himself. “But in the Porsche 917, you’d get wheel spin at 200 mph.” Again, it’s exactly what everyone at the table wanted to hear.
I think we truly bonded one year at Amelia Island when he was being honored. I wound up sitting next to him, his fabulous wife Bettina, and one of their twin daughters, Sydné. It turned out Sydné was on her way to journalism school and Jochen spent the whole dinner (when he wasn’t whispering dirty jokes in my ear) peppering me with questions about writing for a living. Again, he was the one being honored, yet I found myself feeling like the center of attention. I found it baffling at the time, but I wasn’t yet a parent. I realized years later he only wanted what was best for his kid. That, and he liked telling jokes.
The Tour d’Elegance is an event that takes place annually on the Thursday of Pebble Beach Car Week. It’s a rally that’s only open to cars that will be featured on Pebble’s 18th Hole on Sunday for the main Concours d’Elegance. Entrants don’t have to participate in the Tour d’Elegance, but if you want your car to be eligible for a class win, it’s got to go on the Tour. Mercedes-Benz is a long-time Tour d’Elegance sponsor, and as such I found myself inside a C111 Gullwing, while Mass was in front of me piloting a 300 SL Gullwing. His passenger? The late Sir Stirling Moss. To underline it, Mercedes has won Le Mans overall just twice. Once in 1952 with Moss, and again in 1989 with Mass. As I was taking video from the C111, shooting the Mass and Moss Gullwing crossing Bixby Bridge, I was overcome by a massive case of imposter syndrome. What on earth was I doing here?
When we parked for lunch, it was bright and sunny outside, and Mass announced he needed a hat. For whatever reason, I knew of a hat store in Carmel-by-the-Sea, so I walked him over to buy one. As we went, I began to explain my severe sudden onset of imposter syndrome, and how overwhelmed and unworthy I felt by driving with two car gods like him and Moss. I finished right before we walked into the hat store. At the door, he looked me over for five seconds and deadpanned, “I feel something different.” Then his face twisted into a smile and we both burst out laughing, yet again.
One final anecdote, and while this is my favorite, Mass wasn’t even there. I was driving somewhere with two fellow journalists, Autoweek’s Mark Vaughn and The Wall Street Journal’s Dan Neil. I can’t remember why we were talking about Mass, but Neil began to tell us what today we refer to as “The Balloon Story.”
This goes back to an odd phenomenon in the 1990s, when instead of blasting themselves into space, billionaires were obsessed with circumnavigating the globe in giant balloons. You might remember the late Steve Fossett. Anyhow, Neil told us how Mass told him that sometime in the 1990s, Jochen was asked to accompany some rich guy on a big balloon flight. I don’t remember if they were going around the globe or just crossing the Atlantic, but Mass tells Neil the balloon went down somewhere near the Azores.
The pod they were in allegedly became damaged when it hit the water, and the rich guy wound up with a head injury. Mass had to tread water for 14 hours and keep his companion from drowning before they were rescued. Jochen was known for his physical prowess—I’d heard stories he could walk up stairs on his hands, an incredible feat of strength. So while wild, the story was at least on the surface plausible.
I googled “Jochen Mass balloon crash.” No results. The three of us began thinking this could very well be a story he made up, just to pull Neil’s leg. The man was funny like that. We couldn’t get ahold of Jochen, but I had his wife’s cell number. I texted Bettina, asking if this seemingly tall tale was true. She wrote back, “Yes! It was a terrible accident. Jochen almost drowned. I told him, ‘No more balloons!’”
Once again, I find myself laughing. I wish you were still here to laugh with me, Jochen.
