Bernie Ecclestone: The Fisherman's Son Who Became An F1 Billionaire

It's common literary thought that a strong, complex villain can be the making of a rich story. A bad guy with complete belief that what they are doing is right can be one of the most interesting characters. In a way, that is the perfect description of the man who held all the cards at the pinnacle of motorsport.

Failed racing driver, jinxed driver manager, innovative team owner, union leader, sport promoter; Bernie Ecclestone's CV reads like the progression of difficulty in a video game. Mastered the previous level? Made allies and enemies in equal measure? Congratulations. Achievement unlocked.

With every change Ecclestone became more integrated into grand prix racing, more woven into the sport's tapestry. It came to the point where, despite the reputation, he alone held the needle and thread.

In 2014 Ecclestone was in a German court accused of bribery, associated with the sale of the ownership of Formula 1. His accuser is still serving time for accepting the bribe of £26m, but Ecclestone escaped any charges by paying £60m and exploiting a loophole in German law. Just to be clear, that's £86m to stop F1 being sold to a company he didn't want it to go to, and to escape criminal prosecution. But, that's the kind of business Bernie has made his reputation with, and there seems to be a story for everything the diminutive Briton does. The £280m, seven-year contract to host a Russian Grand Prix in Sochi was only finalised through a 15-minute meeting between Ecclestone and Vladimir Putin.

Bernie is the son of a fisherman, so he's had to work hard to make his money. It all started at school: he apparently worked two paper routes, then used that money to buy buns, which he'd sell to schoolmates at a profit.

But the Ecclestone rise to prominence really begins in the 1950s. Despite only minor success in lower categories of racing, he couldn't turn down a good deal and purchased a pair of cars to enter drivers in F1. Initially he was one of them – he failed to qualify at both Monaco and his home race of Silverstone – after which he ventured into driver management as a way to make a living. Ecclestone's first protégé was talented British driver Stuart Lewis-Evans, but he succumbed to injuries sustained in a fiery accident in 1958, and afterwards Ecclestone disappeared from the sport for a decade, clearly feeling the loss of his friend.

In that time he grew wealthy, and rumours began to circulate that he had been associated with the planning of the notorious Great Train Robbery, where £2.6m was stolen from a postal train. When questioned about his involvement, Ecclestone stated that "there wasn't enough money on that train" and that "he could have done something better than that". So where did his money come from? "Property".

In his re-emergence into the Formula 1 world, Ecclestone became manager to one of the top drivers of the era: Austria's Jochen Rindt. Through travelling the racing circuit together they became firm friends, buoyed by the success of Rindt's 1970 campaign. Driving superbly in the innovative Lotus car, the latter was on course for the World Championship that season, winning five races in sublime style.

Disaster would strike in Italy, however. In practice for that weekend's race, the Austrian lost his life in a crash on one of the fastest parts of the circuit, through a combination of his Lotus being as close to the edge of the regulations as possible, and the antiquated barriers at the Monza circuit. For the second time in 12 years, Ecclestone had lost his client and friend to the sport he loved.

By this time Ecclestone had flirted with the possibility of moving into team ownership. In 1971 he purchased the Brabham outfit for £100,000, a team that had slipped from the top of the pecking order after its driver-owner, three-time World Champion Jack Brabham, retired from the sport.

Through a number of shrewd business decisions – such as cheaper but more experimental engines from Alfa Romeo and BMW, as well as untested tyres from Pirelli – the team rose from occasional podium finishers to consistent title challengers, with Brazilian Nelson Piquet becoming World Champion in 1981 and 1983. Indeed, Piquet's departure from the team in 1987, mainly due to Ecclestone trying to negotiate a lower annual salary to save costs, led to the team being sold that year. Brabham, a team bought for £100,000, was sold by Bernie for a cool £5m.

As the fortunes of Brabham changed under Bernie's leadership, he began to look at the sport as a whole and the opportunities it presented. In 1974 he became one of the founding members of the Formula One Constructors Association (FOCA) as a way for the smaller teams to fight their corner against the sport's ruling body. The manufacturer teams (notably Ferrari) were getting their own way when it came to defining the rules and regulations and also received a larger portion of prize money, which was decided by racetrack promoters and the occasional TV broadcast.

Ecclestone's influence and skills in negotiation saw him become de facto leader of this band of supposed misfits, and in 1978 he became their chief executive. The group's legal advisor, Max Mosley, would become one of Ecclestone's most trusted advisors, and with his counsel, the TV rights were wrestled from the sport's governing body and straight into the hands of Bernie; he now had the goose that would lay countless golden eggs.

The deal was simple: if you wanted to show Formula 1 on your television channel, you had to buy all the races in a package, not just your home grand prix and maybe an exciting title decider. The money would be paid straight to the newly established Formula One Promotions and Administrations (FOPA) company, which handed 47% of the revenue to competing F1 teams, 30% to the FIA, and kept the remaining 23% to put up as prize money.

Who was FOPA's CEO? One Bernard Charles Ecclestone.

With Brabham sold on, Bernie was free to explore and develop Formula 1 into a monetary juggernaut. Without going into too much detail – because there is enough to write several volumes – the ownership of F1 as a product, and crucially the ownership of its television revenue, moved from teams, to the FIA, to FOPA, and to other outside companies over the next three decades. But the constant thread tying it all was always Bernie; diminutive, authoritative, almost aloof in his answers to the media. No matter who held the keys to the fortune, Bernie was the treasurer.

It's evident in the locations the sport has expanded to through his dealings. The lucrative Japanese market was first, almost as soon as he profited on Brabham, and has been a mainstay ever since. America has come, left, come back, left and returned once more. China, Malaysia, Singapore and South Korea meant solid movement into the Asian market based on the Japanese foundation, and in recent seasons huge money has led the F1 circus into the oil-rich states of Bahrain and Abu Dhabi, as well as Russia and Azerbaijan. Car manufacturers were attracted by the chance to have their models splashed across television screens from continent to continent. Times were good. No, they were great.

Mosley being elected as president of the FIA (Formula 1's governing body) in 1993 helped this business expansion. The were almost the perfect dichotomy: Mosley was the educated negotiator, keeping the teams happy with rules and regulations that were challenging, but not restricting, and dishing out appropriate punishment where necessary; Ecclestone was the street hustler looking for the next big jackpot, the next bit of leverage that would establish a foothold in a new market. Together they took on the EU in regards to tobacco sponsorship, deflected criticism of Mosley extending Ecclestone' grip on TV rights for 100 years, and played the perfect double act in committing themselves to opposite opinions on major issues before coming together in harmony at the perceived 11th hour. It was a clever game of smoke and mirrors.

The German bribery case may have been the culmination of the loss of allies like Mosley, who stepped down from the FIA presidency in 2009. Bernie didn't have that wingman to work alongside. He was opposed to degradable Pirelli tyres when they were introduced to F1, and campaigned against the smaller, turbocharged engines that made their debut in 2014. Bernie knows business, and knows that an inferior product doesn't make a profit.

On 23 January 2017 his departure from the sport was confirmed. Bernie's time as the self-anointed "Formula 1 supremo" is finally at a close. But before fans dance on his grave it's worth remembering what his legacy will be: taking Formula 1 from the enthusiasts' garages of Europe to the furthest reaches of the planet. He was he promoter the sport didn't necessarily want, yet desperately needed.

@CraigNormanF1