I guess my introductory comments to an older gentleman named Austin were of enough interest that he told me to sit down and chat a spell. We hit it off famously near a Titan Mk 6C Formula Ford he'd bought for his son, and told me about the 21-year-old already being a karting world champion and making it to Indy someday soon. The car had "Austin's White House" on its flanks, prompting me to say "Are you a politician or something?" He laughed and told me he owned a restaurant in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, just a couple-hour drive from our home.
Then his kid walks up, a skinny blonde like myself, with an instant smile on his face once we started talking about karting. We liked each other immediately, really just a couple of Wisconsin road racing fans. My eyes as wide as a canyon, he seemed to understand how I saw him, and clearly and quietly knew just how lucky he was. It was all before him, like the braking zone after the Mulsanne, yet he very simply radiated "nice guy."
The following year, he jumped straight into Formula Super Vee and often ran amongst the leaders in the Pro series, people like that year's champion Eddie Miller, Bob Lazier, Bill Alsup (RIP friend, 8-16), Bobby Rahal, Howdy Holmes, Tom Bagley, Freddie Phillips, even Keke Rosberg — all Big Name drivers on the verge of superstardom. Hermie won the last race of the year at Daytona, and finished second to Phillips at the SCCA Runoffs at Road Atlanta. He clearly was one brave boy, running the car at Road Atlanta without the rear wing. Anybody who's been there will appreciate this.
In 1976 he took a third in the Pro series, but never won a race. If memory serves, in the Pro races his engines were highly-stressed — or at least sounded like it — and broke a few times. By then, I had produced a newsprint magazine about the '75 Runoffs, and Herm graciously set off helping to promote it. He even put my rather amateurish decals on the beautiful Lola he custom-painted with candy apple lacquer and hand-painted gold leaf and pinstriping better than any I'd ever seen. He custom-molded and built a shovel nose others later bought to help with the bills. I watched him pinstripe a van at the USGP at Watkins Glen in October, right out back of the F1 garages, and was hooked. This was to be my path as well, pinstriping and lettering my way to race driver — or, as it turns out, at least it financed my karting. Later that October, Herm won the SCCA Runoffs, and I was thrilled to be a small part of it. Over the coming months and years, he never once turned me away from my many phone calls asking how to become an artist — and a better kart racer.
Herm finally won the USAC Mini Indy title (edit: the oval-version, Pro Super Vee series) in 1977, but it took two more years to get to Indy Car. He did some races in old mounts, but at that time was likely best known for a huge pit fire at the 1981 Michigan 500. Then finally, in 1982, with sponsorship from his friend and home improvement magnate John Menard, he qualified for the Big Show at Indy in 14th place. This was quite a moment for all involved, and all Wisconsinites, and all karters. Hermie looked completely unaffected as always. For me it was the only time I smiled all month after another mentor and friend Gordon Smiley — who was to write "F-Atlantic from the Driver's Seat" for me if my magazine had continued — was killed the prior weekend, and my all-time favorite Gilles Villeneuve perished the week before. Without Herm, I may have never had the stomach for racing again.
But then, just a few days before the race, Herm's father Austin died of a sudden heart attack. I couldn't imagine the courage it took for Herm to carry on, but he continued the Dream for Austin and finished a solid 9th, with me screaming myself hoarse and despite being hit in the pits by Rick Mears.
Time went on and Herm suffered more traumas, with a couple terrible crashes. The second one, at Indy in 1986, finished his driving. He went straight back to his roots as a helmet painter, and quietly as always, oiled his brushes and thinned his paints and produced his art. His brilliance never left him.
Today may be one terrible day for those you left behind, Hermie, but we sure are glad to have known you just the same.
Edited by E1pix, 12 December 2016 - 00:43.
