Although he never knew it, Justin Wilson was responsible for one of the all-too few scoops I ever managed when covering grands prix for national newspapers. Thanks to a tip off from the late John Walton, then team manager at Minardi, I learned that Wilson was being switched from the Italian team to Jaguar for the final five races of 2003.
This was big news for us both. Coming as it did on the weekend of the British Grand Prix when newspapers were looking for a fresh angle that no one else might have (social network then being in its infancy), The Observer gave the story the space it deserved (not always the case when fighting with more than a dozen sports on any given weekend).
Apart from being a good news tale in every sense, this was a significant moment for Wilson; his big chance to step up to the plate after fighting hard for recognition that seemed to be passing him by. Winning the F3000 title in 2001 had all been very well but the fickle and cash-strapped business of F1 tended to overlook a quiet Yorkshireman with nothing to offer but a great deal of talent.
I say "overlooked" in the grammatical sense because, physically, this was very difficult given Wilson's height. In truth, his 6-foot-4-inch frame also went against him as designers preferred a jockey to a gangling lad who, it seemed to me, walked with his knees slightly bent as if trying to appear shorter than he actually was.
It had been a tough few years culminating in a public share offer in 'Justin Wilson' raising the cash to get him into Minardi. The usual small team reliability/lack of budget problems aside, Wilson did enough to attract Jaguar's attention when looking to replace Antonio Pizzonia.
The Jaguar may have been quicker than the Minardi but it was by no means bulletproof and just as cramped in the cockpit. An eighth place at Indianapolis, impressive though it was after being thrown in the deep end, did not turn out to be enough to ensure Wilson's seat for 2004 in the face of competition from Christian Klien and his attendant Red Bull sponsorship. But Wilson's efforts and experience were sufficient to open the next most important and successful phase of Justin's life in North America. Hearing of his each of his seven subsequent victories in American open wheel racing (four in ChampCar, three in IndyCar) was always good news in the sense that a talent was finally being rewarded.
A bunch of newspapermen had witnessed Wilson's speed at first hand courtesy of a day out at Jonathan Palmer's excellent driving school in Bedford. Having managed Wilson for a while, Jonathan remained a big fan and had Justin help out at the school.
It's one thing standing trackside and attempting to assess a driver; quite another to have him take over the car you've been struggling to drive quickly and put the thing on its door handles - with no apparent effort whatsoever. I remember standing beside Palmer at the exit of a fast corner and watching Wilson come through. "Bloody quick," mused Palmer to no one in particular.
JP might have also added that Justin Wilson was a thoroughly nice guy, one who will be missed terribly by his family and many friends throughout motor racing.