Oh The Right Track

 

Most people who mash in the front of their cars expect them to be in the garage for a month. James Mullen gets his fixed in 28 minutes. It's not that as founder and owner of Mullen Advertising Inc. in Beverly Farms, Mass., he commands that much respect at the local body shop. Rather, he has, on call, a repair crew that works with the precision of surgeons at a heart-and-lung operation. And the process can be just as costly: The car in question, a flame-belching, bright yellow, customized 934 Porsche, is worth some $150,000, develops over 600 horsepower, and is capable of exceeding 200 mph.

The reason that Mullen isn't content with a simple, off-the-shelf Camaro is that, in his spare time, he is one of the country's top-ranked professional endurance-racing drivers in a tough circuit that includes such names as A. J. Foyt, Tom Sneva -- and, yes, Paul Newman. Unlike Newman, however, the slight, unimposing ad man has gained more statistical than physiognomical prominence. He was 11th among long-distance drivers last year, and this year captured second place in the International Motor Sports Association (IMSA) GTO Championship. Racing his team's Porsche with co-driver Wayne Baker, he won the 1983 12 Hours of Sebring overall, making even cars in the faster GTP class eat cooked dust.

Even at the age of 43 (not really that old in racing: Foyt is close to 50 and Newman is 58), Mullen takes avidly to the road. He drives during 10 months of the year and travels the country from Daytona Beach Fla. to Portland, Ore. And the road takes to him. "I feel like I'm going home when I race," says Mullen. "We're a troop of players who get together for four very intense days. Only someone who races a car 200 mph understands what the fears are, and the thrills, and the satisfaction. You don't do well in this league unless you cut it professionally."

To Mullen, the satisfaction comes in taking on a challenge at its highest level. He worked his way up from the tepid vintage-car racing in which he began in 1976, went to driving school to learn the fine points of the trade, and campaigned his own Mazda to earn respect on the track. "If you want to do something that is very important to you, that's competitive, you don't want to compete against people who are weak," he asserts. "I can go out and buy any trophy for $200; what I can't buy is the knowledge that I'm good enough to win against people who are considered by the world as the best."

That the satisfaction also incorporates danger is beside the point. "If you're afraid," declares Mullen, "you don get into a race car. I've never been afraid." So far, Mullen has had only one high-speed accident. Doing 160 mph, he hit some oil, turned around completely, and smashed into a guardrail. When the parts stopped rolling, he was bruised but unhurt. One wheel was sticking up in the air, but by dexterous maneuvering, he managed to drive to the pit on three good wheels. Not only did his car finish the race, it also went on to take fifth in its class. Another time, a driver hit some concrete barriers and was killed. Mullen replaced his team's driver, and, after the green flag, he studied the spot as he sped by. "I said to myself, 'That's as good a way to go as any.' "His car went on to win.

Predictably, Mullen disdains a milksop approach to business as well. "You can pursue excellence by building a little house of cards, but I'm trying to do something much bigger," he says of his 26-person advertising firm. "It's unarguably more difficult to run a $12-million business than a pizza stand" -- an assertion only Nolan Bushnell could challenge. As publisher of The Cannonball Express. an automotive newsletter and a major sponsor of the team, Mullen gets one-quarter of the team's earnings. This year, a successful one, his contribution to the campaign will come close to breaking even.

Despite the obvious hazards if you get sloppy at 200 mph, Mullen finds business "50 times more demanding" than driving a car fast. With a small operation, the major shareholder can make unassailable decisions. But in his Porsche, Mullen is in constant contact with the crew by radio, the crew acting as a kind of inescapable Greek chorus. "You're told every single lap what your time is," Mullen explains. "If it has to be better to win the race, the crew chief is on you saying 'Do you have a problem? Is there something wrong with the car? Well, we would like you to go a little faster.' And the pressure to go faster is enormous."

To some degree, the team's notoriety spills over into Mullen's ad business. Clients follow his racing successes carefully. "They read about it in newspapers and that leaves an impression. It says something about my determination," Mullen explains. Altbough the agency has been equally successful through the years -- Mullen now has been able to accumulate three Ferraris, an A.C. Bristol, a Jaguar, a McLaren Can-Am, a Citroen Maserati, and a 1962 Chrysler, among other personal vehicles -- he is not about to retire from the business to go all-out in racing. "If I had to choose between the agency and racing, I would give up racing," he asserts.

Knock on steel, so far he hasn't had to. Next year he and teammate Baker plan to step up to the top IMSA class, G. T. Prototype, mounting a $700,000 campaign with a Porsche 956. At the GTP level, car racing is at its very fastest. But Mullen shrugs off both risk and expense. "For my own selfish reasons, I want to do my absolute best," he reflects. "No one is making me put my foot down on the gas."