Huschke, and by extension our department, was responsible for managing the following areas: Porsche entries in the Formula II series 1960, the Grand Prix Formula I seasons 1961 and 1962, (including travel and hotel accommodations), the World Sports Car Championship, the European Rally Championship, the European Hill Climb Championship, supervision of and assistance to all private entry Porsche drivers, Porsche Clubs worldwide, introduction of new Porsche models including the 911, the Targa, the Carrera 904, the Bergspyder, the 908 and various other racing cars, contacts to the worldwide press, factory tours twice daily, literature on all new car models and weekly racing press releases (in three languages), Christmas parties and gifts, special occasion events including funerals, visits to all race events (Hutschke) and selected events (some of us). In retrospect it boggles the mind that all this was handled by approximately ten people who, with the exception of Eddi Barth and von Huschke's secretary Erna Angemeer, were in their twenties. Some of us became lifelong friends like Thora Hornung (later writer of many motor racing books), Ilse Naedele (later in charge of worldwide Porsche clubs) and Ole Kirk Jensen (later PR director of Volvo). The confidence that "the Boss" as we called him, inspired in us back then served us very well later in life.

Huschke was the driver, we were his pitcrew. He was mission control, the center of the wheel. All 'spokes' had to function quickly and without fail, let alone complaint. Leaving for home at normal business closing hours he considered bourgeois, getting tired was un-aristocratically wimpy and getting ill for old people. Looking well-groomed was a must. After all, "you are working for Porsche" He looked at all times like the English Lord 'to the Manor born'. Tailor made blue and white striped shirts peeked out from expensive tweed jackets or summer linen blazers, long before such fashions were even known in Germany. Hand-made leather loafers, a generation old were slipped over bright red or pink socks, his little mischievous signal of rebellion against the corporate (dull?) establishment to which he did not really want to belong. His modus operandi in the office could be described as 'managed chaos' . His large, drawerless desk was covered at all times with papers, books, homologation sheets, photographs and souvenirs from friends and fans. No letter was too insignificant, no note too trivial, no present too small to escape his attention and shame on us if we ever forgot to send acknowledgements or 'thank yous'. We marveled at his exquisite 'politesse' and wit in dealing with his worldwide correspondence. No moment was like another. Unpredictability was the one thing you could count on and had to be ready for. Within minutes his mood would change from furious temper outbursts and loudly voiced criticism for minor mistakes, to lavish praise for a job well done, calling us by sweet-sounding nicknames he invented for each of us. It was a mercurial daily performance that needed getting used to and those who could not cope with it did not last long. After Wolfgang von Trips' death in Monza in September 1961, his extreme hard edge was gone. I had never seen a man so distraught before and only once later, when my husband lived through the aftermath of Jimmy Clark's accident in Hockenheim. After that horrendous Sunday in Monza, Huschke asked me to come to his home for the first time. He wanted to give some direction for the days he was going to be absent from the office. I still see him sitting in his fur-covered rocking chair with his dog Bonga by his side, attended by his beloved Ursula and barely able to speak. He had been a mentor and father figure to Count Trips, nurturing his career from the very beginning and I think he felt he had lost a son. Up to that point he had seemed strong and awe-inspiring, now he was vulnerable and infinitely sad. I always felt that we forged a real bond at that moment, a man who had seen it all and a young woman who was going to see plenty within the decade.

Going to funerals, even preparing funerals, was part of the ritual of working in racing in the 60's. In a perverse way it heightened the romance of it all. Drivers were brave, grand characters way above normal humans. The photo gallery of drivers killed in racing accidents which was displayed on a wall behind his desk, grew longer and longer. Ricardo Rodriguez, Count von Trips, Tony Spychiger, Lorenzo Bandini, Gunther Klass, Paul Hawkins, Jimmy Clark, Mike Spence, Jo Schlesser, Bino Heinz, Count Beaufort, Lodovico Scarfiotti, Lucky Casner to be followed by Jochen Rindt, Gerhard Mitter, Joakim Bonnier, Jo Siffert, Pedro Rodriguez, Rolf Stommelen and many more. Most had been frequent visitors to our offices and Huschke cared deeply about them and their safety. "Cars", he used to say "are just pieces of metal, but you my friend are irreplaceable, take care of yourself". While the causes of accidents were discussed in minute detail, the wider moral implications of the racing business were a taboo subject. Nobody dared address it, and everybody was troubled by it.

He hired drivers by handshake. I do not recall a lawyer ever being involved in negotiations or contracts. His personal charm and persuasive cajoling brought every star sooner or later behind the wheel of a Porsche racing car for very little money. I remember him trying to get Jackie Stewart to race for Porsche in Le Mans. "Well" Jackie said on the phone, "What are you offering me Huschke?" "Offering? You mean money? But Jackie, it is an honor to drive for us". Jackie chuckled and declined, but few stars did. Huschke invented the company racing and spending philosophy: "We are the biblical David (small) pitched against the biblical Goliath (big) like Mercedes, Ford, Ferrari, GM. We are small but we have guts to lay it on the line against the big guys". We hammered that point home in every press release. I can hear him now talking to the legendary Mercedes PR Director Artur Keser. "Arturo, Arturo, you know we are sooooo small compared to you. You can entertain all the journalists in big style, while we out here in the suburbs have to make do. We just have to be more original and come up with better ideas to make up for it". Part of that was an act, but part of it was true, Huschke tried to fulfill big aspirations for Porsche on a very small budget.

He once flew out to the Helsinki Autoshow where all the big car companies gave lavish parties for the worldwide automobile press. Knowing he could not compete on that level, he was trying to think up something that would make journalists remember the occasion. So he held the Porsche press conference in a Finnish sauna, inviting everybody afterwards to roll with him in the snow stark naked. Upon his return he told me that there now was an occasion where female PR persons were a handicap. When he promoted me at a very young age to head the Porsche Press department and I voiced my concern about being female in such a male-dominated business, he waved it all aside. "If you do a good job, they'll get used to it". With this attitude he was way ahead of his time. He took me along to the various receptions held by the big car companies on press day at the Paris Auto Salon in 1965. Some were for 'gentlemen only' (the female PR invasion into the automobile industry was still a decade away). This did not deter him from walking in everywhere and introducing me in the most flattering terms, pointing to my extreme youth in such a job as an asset. It was a heady experience and something to live up to. He walked into cocktail parties without an invitation and balked at putting on a nametag. Everyone recognized him, "The Baron is here" they whispered. While he worked the room, embracing people left and right and complimenting them on their ties or their new car designs in four languages, he picked a little food here and there from somebody's plate and puffed quickly on a cigarette which he lit by holding it away from him over a candle. In this way we breezed through fifteen receptions including Renault, Mercedes, Peugeot, Fiat, Volkswagen etc. etc. in about two hours.

His own home served as a hotel and restaurant to drivers, journalists and assorted 'beautiful people' from the jet set. Ursula, his elegant wife, was a trooper par excellence. Each day, around 6:00 P.M. he used to call her from the office, letting her know that he would bring five important American Journalists home for dinner within the hour. "Just throw some strawberries and sliced bread on our antique silver, they will be impressed". The elegant parties he and Ursula gave before the Solitude Race every July became legendary. From Stirling Moss to Sir Jack Brabham, from Gunther Sachs to the King of Spain, from David E. Davis to Bernard Cahier, everybody who was anybody in the motor racing world gathered to sip Camparis on hot summer nights at the Kraeherwald.

On Thursday afternoons he used to leave for the races after a hectic morning of dishing out non-stop instructions. Exhaustedly and anxiously we waited for his departure and for a moment of peace. Seeing his orange Carrera leave the parking lot caused a sigh of relief which could be heard on two floors. We practically sank into our chairs catching our breath knowing that the first phone call from the airport would come the moment he hit the terminal. (Imagine him in a world of cell phones…). Often he asked us to page him there over the loudspeaker, "Porsche Rennleiter von Hanstein to the phone please". He loved it. Porsche was in the news, the people of Stuttgart knew he was flying out to a race, PR at every level.

Immediately after a race was over on Sunday, no matter in which time zone it took place, he called me at home and I put our little speedy press network into motion. He gave me the results and I wrote a little story and phoned it out to certain journalists who were at their sports desks waiting for it. Apart from the fact that I had no free weekends during the racing season, the system worked beautifully and every small Porsche achievement on the track (this was before Porsche got overall victories, but labored in the class categories) was extensively reported in the papers. "It is our most important task that Ferry Porsche reads at breakfast in the local paper on Monday what his cars have done on the track on Sunday". We made great efforts to get this done without fail.

He adored traveling and never tired of enjoying local customs and people. One of his goals was to visit every important country in the world at least once. The Targa Florio in Sicily was one of his most favorite spots. On my first visit there with the Porsche team he invited me for a practice lap around the 72km course through the Sicilian mountains and villages made famous by the 'Godfather' movies. Going through Campofelice or Cerda at breakneck speed in a rental car (a mule) he gesticulated at the sights, telling me stories where Phil Hill had gone off the road and Dan Gurney had knocked over a bridge, all the while negotiating around donkey carts, peasants and sheep that were populating the road. Suddenly he veered off into a village perched high on a mountain and accessible only by hundreds of wide steps. He drove right over them while women and children streamed out of their primitive lodgings in their black dresses and babushkas, curious about the visitor. In the village square he stopped, jumped out of the car and the town folk rushed to embrace him offering him wine or coca-cola. "IL Barone e arrivato, IL Barone de corsa e arrivato". He introduced me, kissed the women, jumped back into the car, drove down the stairs and back to the race track. The whole episode might have taken 15 minutes but it took me ten years to recover. We did a similar thing at the Monte Carlo Rally, only this time it took ten hours of driving at night on ice and snow through the Alpes Maritimes with motorcycle World Champion Walfried Winkler sitting in the back seat of our 911. Walfried was scared out of his mind and constantly whispered in my ear to tell Huschke to slow down. He was too chicken to do it himself. I was not too chicken, because I was completely desperate at this point, but Huschke was indifferent to my pleas. He was determined to arrive at the end of the Monte Carlo Rally ahead of Vic Elford, the eventual winner. When it was over and we drove into the courtyard of the Monaco castle to see Grace Kelly in a grey sable coat present the silver cup to Vic , I was a shadow of my former self. With a fatherly gesture he patted me on the head, telling me that now he had to catch a flight to the United States and that he was sure that I could handle the Monte aftermath in the right Porsche spirit.

And so it went, day in day out until I left for the United States to marry Dan Gurney in July 1969. Had Huschke not asked Dan to give me a ride to the city on that memorable summer evening before the Solitude Race in 1962, my life would have been radically different. I am so glad he did. I see him quite often now on 'Speedvision' on American TV. There he sits in the pits in Le Mans at 3 o'clock in the morning, stopwatch in hand, a lonely figure while all the beautiful people are back in the hotel to rest. His trademark checkered tweed cap sits just at the right angle on his head, his tie is in place, a gentleman doing his job in a business he loved and helped to make famous.