Olympic Affair

by Terry Frei

  “What I think,” said Dave Albritton, Jesse’s roommate and pal from Ohio State, “is that you just had a long day today with the 200 qualifying and the broad jump, and a long day tomorrow with the 200 semifinals and finals . . . so you better get your ass to bed. Soon.”

  “Keep the light on for me,” Jesse said with a grin.

  Glenn went to the food line and as he grabbed an apple, Marty Glickman was at his shoulder.

  “As much as I like Jesse, I don’t think he gets it,” Glickman said, as if Glenn were a sounding board.

  “Not sure I know what you mean,” Glenn said carefully.

  He took a bite out of the apple and stopped. So did Glickman. This didn’t seem like a conversation to take back to the tables.

  “Hitler despises the Negroes,” Glickman said. “But the masses don’t hate ’em as much as they dehumanize them. The Negroes here are like animals on display in the zoo to these Germans. That’s insulting and disgusting, too, but I’m not sure it’s as hateful as Hitler wants it to be. Now, us . . . the Jews . . . for a lot of them, even the same people cheering for Jesse and asking for his autograph, that’s hate.”

  Glenn didn’t argue. Instead, he asked, “Any word on the relay?”

  Glickman chuckled darkly. “Get different answers from everybody,” he said. “And straight answers out of nobody. We’ve been practicing the handoffs in just about every combination possible with Draper, Stoller, and me. I think Wykoff’s a sure thing. It just comes down to whether they stick in Jesse and Ralph—and who they’d replace.”

  At Castle Ruhwald, Leni was going over paperwork and the film reports in her office before beginning the late-night meetings with each cameraman and his crew.

  Across from her, Walter Frentz was reading Der Angriff, hot off the presses. “Listen to this,” he announced to Leni, then changed tone to make it clear he was reading. “‘If America didn’t have her black auxiliaries, where would she be in the Olympic Games?’”

  Leni scoffed. “They’ll have a lot of white winners, too. Even had one today. The hurdler. There will be more.” As casually as she could, she added, “Like the decathlon man, Morris. Goebbels could put him in an SS uniform and put him on a poster. He could stay here after the Games and be a star here. Even as an American in Berlin.”

  Frentz didn’t seem to understand that she was floating an idea.

  “But Owens might even win two more golds!” Frentz exclaimed.

  “As long as he keeps smiling at the camera and lets you people shoot his rear end and legs up close, that’s all right with me,” Leni said. “And it will be good for the film internationally if we can show we’ll put the stars in the starring roles . . . even the primitive men from Africa.”

  Ernst Jäger knocked and came in.

  “Need anything from me before I go home?” he asked.

  Leni thought a second. “What’s the tone in the press tribune from the Americans?”

  “Jesse Owens, Jesse Owens, Jesse Owens,” Jäger said. “He’s just about all the Americans are writing about, but the poor scribblers are spending a lot of their time trying to see if he and the Führer at least waved at each other. But the strange thing is that they’re looking to pass judgment, and they’re writing like they’re trying to please Goebbels. I’m told that the most famous American sports journalist of all—Grantland Rice, he was at your press session—today wrote that it’s a ‘darktown parade’ and another from New York, Joe Williams, said it was a ‘darktown strutters’ ball.’”

  “Did they think they were writing for Streicher?” Leni asked dryly.

  Frentz squinted at Jäger and asked, “How do you know what they wrote already?”

  Jäger chuckled. “It’s actually kind of funny to watch, because everybody’s figured out what’s going on,” the publicity man said. “Half the people in the press tribune and work areas are Gestapo in plainclothes. They hear, they see, they read. So the word gets around. Even before it gets published.”

  23

  Vaulting into the Night

  Thursday, August 6

  On the eve of the decathlon’s first day, Glenn, Bob Clark, and Jack Parker ran and stretched together at the Village practice track. They paused to watch a “race” the coaches staged among Foy Draper, Sam Stoller, and Marty Glickman, theoretically to prioritize them in the final selection of the 400-meter relay team. Stoller won, Glickman was second, and Draper third. But some of the suspense seemed to have been taken out of it because coach Lawson Robertson had announced the day before that Jesse Owens wouldn’t be on the team, and that led to the widespread speculation that the foursome would be Stoller, Glickman, Draper, and Frank Wykoff.

  Glenn ran slowly over and patted Marty on the back as he gathered up his sweats. “Nobody’s going to beat you guys,” he said.

  “I’m still not sure I’m running,” Glickman said. He gestured toward Stoller. “Or Sam, either.”

  “But Robertson said . . .”

  “Until it happens, I’m not going to count on it,” Glickman said. “They might want to get Jesse another gold, and they might not want us—Sam and me—running here. Nobody’s convinced me that Brundage isn’t against that.”

  Glenn shrugged. “It’s going to work out.”

  Brutus Hamilton checked in with the decathlon men. “I’ve been thinking about final advice,” the coach said. “You and your own coaches know your strengths and weaknesses better than I do. The only thing I can really come up with is that I’ve seen guys get caught up in the Olympic atmosphere and the thinking that this is their one shot, so they go all-out in everything. They come in knowing that they need to preserve energy if they can, but they forget it in the Olympics. So especially in the field events, think about whether you can back off a bit once you think you’ve done about the best you could.”

  Clark laughed. “Well, one thing we’ve got to hope for is that we don’t go as long in the pole vault as the regular pole-vaulters did last night.”

  “No way you can go that long,” Hamilton said with a smile. “Then you’d be running the 1,500 in the middle of the night.”

  Most of the Americans hadn’t even known the pole vault results when they went to bed the night before. Many of them had seen, or heard of, the other Wednesday results, including Jesse Owens winning his third gold medal in the 200 meters, with Mack Robinson winning the silver. Ken Carpenter upset Gordon Dunn in the discus, but they finished one-two, with Walter Wood—living down to his own expectations—coming in thirteenth. Most of the Americans advanced through early heats of the 100 hurdles and 1,500 meters. But the pole vault seemed to be interminable. They got the word at breakfast on Thursday morning: The event hadn’t ended until nearly 11 the night before, with Earle Meadows winning the gold ahead of the Japanese, Shuhei Nishida and Sueo Oe. Bill Sefton and Bill Graber came up just short of medals.

  When he heard the results, Glenn’s first thought was: Wonder if Leni’s people had been able to get all that. His second thought: Too bad for Sefton and Graber. His third thought: Well, the Japanese seemed like good guys, too.

  Going back to the dormitory, Glenn ran into Graber. “Should I congratulate or console you?” Glenn asked.

  Graber chuckled. “Under those conditions? Night? Cold? I did as well as I could. Every minute it went on, the more advantage the younger guys had. I’m just glad it’s over, and now we’re going to some nightclub tonight to toast it all. You should come! We’re going in and having dinner, then heading to that club. It’s called ‘Resi’ or something like that. Bunch of the guys already have been there, say it’s great.”

  “Do you have to bring a pole to get in tonight?”

  “Well, you’ve got one . . .”

  “Even if I don’t really know what to do with it.”

  “Still . . . I think you’d be allowed to join us.”

  Glenn thought about it—but only for a second. “Wish I could . . . but I can’t,” he said. “Competing tomorrow and all that . . .”

  “I f
igured that.”

  Back at the building, one of the messengers was waiting with another sealed note from Leni.

  Remember, good fortune smiles on those who deserve it. You deserve it!

  And then maybe after––

  Love you,

  L

  Glenn divided his afternoon between walking around the grounds and reading in the community hall, to avoid just sitting in his room. As he walked near the wooded area with the lake, he laughed about the Australians at the practice track complaining that the German maidens stopped showing up in the woods once the Games started.

  “For God’s sake, the swimmers, divers, boxers, rowers . . . all of ’em, had another week to kill until they compete,” one Aussie said. “The Krauts could have had an even better Olympic team in 1960!”

  As near as Glenn knew, no Americans had taken advantage of the opportunity . . . or at least admitted to it.

  At dinner, a Badger came in to summarize the afternoon results from the track stadium and other venues. Glenn Cunningham finished second to New Zealander Jack Lovelock in the 1,500 meters. That drew groans, but the Badger said: “I’m told it was a terrific race. Lovelock set a world record!” Fingering his sheet, he added that Archie San Romani was fourth and Gene Venzke ninth. No Americans medaled in the javelin or hop, step, and jump, but that wasn’t a shock.

  The Badger seemed to be done, so someone asked, “What about the high hurdles?”

  Just as the man said, “Not in yet,” another Badger rushed into the room. The two Badgers whispered back and forth. “All right, boys, in the hurdles . . .” the first said. He paused and waited for silence. “Gold—Forrest Towns!” Cheers rang out. “Bronze—Fritz Pollard!” More cheers.

  After Glenn finished dinner, he approached the two Negroes scheduled to compete in the 400-meter semifinals and finals the next day—Archie Williams and Jimmy LuValle. “Hope the track’s in decent shape for us tomorrow,” Glenn said.

  “Should be,” said Williams. “It was okay today during the heats. Don’t think the weather’s supposed to be too bad.”

  LuValle said, “My biggest worry is getting to sleep.”

  “Same here,” Glenn said with a smile.

  “Mr. Morris?”

  Glenn turned and was facing a well-scrubbed member of the Honorary Youth Service.

  “Yes?”

  “I have been asked to have you come to the office at the front gate,” the young man said.

  “Why?”

  “You have a visitor there.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” the young man said. “They just said to get you. And that it was important.”

  Glenn’s guess was right. Leni, still wearing a light jacket, was in the superintendent’s office, alone. She signaled Glenn to close the door behind him, and when he did, held out her arms and waited for him to come to her.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said breathlessly as they kissed.

  “Missed you, too,” Glenn managed to say.

  When they were hugging, Leni began slowly. “It’s been too long,” she said.

  “Not that I’m complaining,” Glenn said, “but why did you come now?”

  “Can’t I wish you good luck for tomorrow in person?” she asked.

  “Sure, but . . .”

  She admitted, “I do need to ask one favor. For the film.”

  “What?”

  “All day long today, we were bracing for the film report from last night. When I got to Ruhwald tonight after the events, the report was on my desk saying the pole vault film was—as we feared—not acceptable. It went so late, and the lighting was horrible.”

  “That’s too bad,” Glenn said. “I hear it was all very dramatic.”

  “Today, when we were thinking about the possibilities, your officials said you’re pretty good friends with your vaulters. I didn’t even bring your name up. They did.”

  “Well, sure . . . they’re good guys. They’ve helped me.”

  “And the Japanese?”

  “I’ve met them.”

  “Can you introduce them all to me?”

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to know each other!”

  “Glenn, you were introduced to me! I have talked with many of the Americans, from Jesse Owens to your girl sprinter. For us to know each other now isn’t scandal.”

  “Why do you want to meet them?”

  “To see if we can get them back to the stadium to re-create the final jumps. We’ll set up floodlights next to the pit and runway, get each to make a couple of jumps, get them up close . . .”

  “Why can’t you just use some of their earlier jumps, when it was lighter?”

  “Yesterday, I went to the yachting in the morning,” she said. “I should have been there. They got some wonderful shots of the early vaults, but that’s what they were—early vaults. All the writers were saying how dark it was when they finished. Someone will remember that when the film comes out and say something. More important, this way we can actually control the conditions and make it even better than the real thing. I’ll have them talking with each other, the camera in front of them as they start down the runway . . . things like that. All in the dark, but with our lighting. This can be an opportunity.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight, if we can get the vaulters there. My people already have notified some officials to be ready. The second we confirm this, the calls will go out again and they will go to the stadium. They know I will make it worth their while.”

  Glenn was flabbergasted. “Now?”

  “I’m told the Japanese trackmen are leaving for home once that part of the competition is over. And you already said some of you are going to other parts of Europe for exhibitions, too. I know we could do it now. I don’t know about next week or any other night.”

  “Well, there’s at least one problem . . . our vaulters aren’t here now.”

  “You know that?”

  “Yeah, Bill Graber told me the three of them were going to dinner and then some nightclub.”

  “You know which nightclub?”

  “Residence . . . or something like that.”

  “Resi?”

  “Sounds right.”

  Leni grabbed her coat. “I’ll have my runner find the Japanese, and see if they’re game. Let’s go find your Americans.”

  “Leni . . .” He waited until she had turned. “I’m competing tomorrow. It’s going to be one of the two most important days in my life. I can’t be running around Berlin! That’s twenty miles from here!”

  “All right,” Leni said, “you go in and tell the boys the story, and if they’re agreeable, have them come out to meet me. I’d go in, but it will be a commotion, believe me. I will send you back here to the Village in the car. You will be back here in ninety minutes. You can tell them—and I will do so, too—this probably is their chance to star in the film. Two or three jumps, some close-ups, and they’re back to the nightclub. And I will make a call, and their bill for the entire night at the club will go to me.”

  Glenn couldn’t resist laughing. “Well, knowing those guys . . . that might swing it,” he said. “But do you have any idea what that might cost you?”

  “It’s not my money . . . and it’ll be worth it,” Leni assured him.

  Glenn knew he wouldn’t be able to get to sleep for at least a couple of hours, anyway. “Okay, as long as we stick to that plan,” he said. “I can’t be gone too long. But we also need to hope they haven’t had too many beers already. I don’t think you want any of them to get killed trying to clear fourteen feet drunk.” As he was getting ready to leave, he thought of something else he had been aching to bring up. “This might sound stupid, but sometime I’d like to see how you look at and edit the film, too. Of this or anything else.”

  “Sure,” said Leni. She smiled and lightly touched his face. “It’s the least I could do.”

  Much to Glenn’s surprise, it worked better than planned, because the American vaulters still were
in the lobby of the nightclub, waiting to be shown to a table.

  Graber saw Glenn first. “Well, look who’s here!” he exclaimed.

  Glenn quickly explained the situation to Graber and Earle Meadows, the most important target because he had won the gold medal. He explained Leni was trying to line up the two Japanese medalists, too.

  “How long will it take?” Meadows asked.

  “Half hour once you’re dressed and out there,” Glenn said. “Maybe an hour. Do your acting thing under the lights, smile a lot, then you’re back here. This place stays open ’til dawn, or something like that. And she says your entire bill is on her.”

  Their reactions showed that was the clincher.

  Glenn asked, “Your equipment’s still there, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Graber. “But we’d need to get into the equipment room.”

  “I think she has ways to get anywhere she wants in the stadium. I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

  “And how are we getting there?” Meadows asked.

  “There are two limousines out there now for you,” Glenn said.

  “It might be kind of fun,” Meadows said. He paused. “But how’d you get in this, Glenn?”

  “She came looking for you guys at the Village and I was there. I said I knew where you were and I’d help. And . . .” Glenn shrugged. “Well, I’ve got to get back. She’s in her own limo out there, waiting for me to tell her you’re doing this!”

  “She’s here?” Meadows asked, incredulously.

  “Sure is,” Glenn said. “And she’s counting on you.”

  Glenn started to leave, and Graber followed closely. He said it as if there were no doubt. “You and her have something going,” Graber said.