Somehow the whole week has been jinxed. Nothing is really going according to plan and now the absolute bad news in the middle of the Ennstal-Classic. My long-time friend and valued colleague Jean Pierre Froidevaux, known as Jimmy for short, passed away yesterday (July 26, 2019) at the young age of 75 in his adopted country of Thailand without any warning. He died exactly as he had always wished. Quickly and without complications, without any major ailments and without prolonged suffering. Wonderful for him, but a great and unexpected shock for me and his many, many friends.
Jimmy was a person you simply had to like. I truly believe that he was one of the few people who had no enemies at all and was simply loved by everyone. He was always the same: cheerful, upbeat and in a good mood.
I got to know him at the Swiss Championship races in 1976, after my father had already told me a lot about him: "There's a colleague, always in jeans and a denim jacket with a full beard and long, wild hair, and a red handkerchief around his neck, held together by a matchbox. A funny bird, a real hippie, but he's incredibly likeable and very nice."
We quickly became close friends, traveled a lot together and shared hotel rooms at hundreds of races. Fun was always very important and nothing, absolutely nothing, could put him off his stride. Or could it?
Yes, I remember exactly once that he once used bad language and was completely beside himself. It was at the Belgian GP in Spa, in what was then the bus stop chicane, where he was attacked by a security man with a muzzled Rottweiler in a place where photographers were allowed. A picture taken by a colleague showed Jimmy on the ground with the dog's face maybe 30 centimeters from his face. This act was too much even for Jimmy and he rightly reported the photo of his colleague to the FIA and sued the security man.
With the best will in the world, nothing else could get him off his guard. For example, when we had to stay in a hotel in Montreal for a Grand Prix, where people with explicit sexual motifs were constantly knocking on the door of the room while Jimmy was developing films and then transferring the negatives to Zurich with his picture fax. This hotel was already a substitute solution, as the first hotel had such a large bathroom window that it could not be darkened and was therefore unsuitable for film processing.
Nevertheless, almost all the "hotel guests" in the replacement hotel ended up standing in our room, dressed only in a bath towel, totally fascinated and interested. And Jimmy? Stayed cool and calm.
In Sao Paulo, our rental car mysteriously disappeared from the Hilton hotel parking garage. The vehicle could no longer be found, so we were chauffeured to the racetrack and back every day in the hotel limousine.
He loved life and a glass of wine in the evening, sometimes a few more, accompanied by his beloved cigar.
As a self-taught tiler, he always kept up with the latest technology and bought the latest, albeit sinfully expensive, image fax machines so that he could always deliver the latest information quickly. We spent nights transmitting the pictures together with the squeaky machine via the room telephone, which always had to be manipulated a little. In the end, we could only sleep when the box, the size of a modern printer, squeaked. As soon as peace returned, we woke up and changed the picture so that we could go back to sleep.
His great love was the water and sailing boats. First on Lake Walen, then later on Lake Constance, he enjoyed his free time on the water in his own sailing boat with his friend Ruedi Menzi. With his pension and, by Swiss standards, a meagre AHV, and therefore without much financial support, he left for Thailand around 10 years ago, where he recently built a new house and enjoyed a much too short retirement with his wife and their son.
Jimmy, what a damn great time we had together. I miss you and revel in all the memories, like the time we had to ask for directions on the drive from Estoril to Jerez in the middle of nowhere in Portugal and of course without satnav, and the guy completely freaked out because he thought you were Nelson Piquet and really wanted an autograph, which he got.
Jimmy, we will miss you!