It’s the same with the assassination of President John F. Kennedy and the horrors of 9/11—I know exactly where I was, and what I was doing, on April 7, 1968, when Jim Clark, who we all thought to be invulnerable, was killed while driving a Lotus 48 in a minor F2 race at Hockenheim.
I was enjoying a late lunch with friends at our home in Folkestone, England. When the news came through I, like the rest of the world, was stunned. My appetite evaporated. Our happy lunch party turned into numbed silence. There was no point in continuing so, with a few somber farewells, our friends drove back to London. Our day, and our lives, had been momentarily shattered by the loss of this unassuming, quietly spoken, hyper-talented Scot. A man who had won the 1963 and 1965 Formula One World Championships, proved unbeatable in 25 championship Grands Prix, won another 19 non-title GPs, the Indianapolis 500 and 3 Tasman Cups.
