by Frank Coffey
“IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO FORGET TONYA”*
“[Tonya] is a Larry Bird or Wayne Gretzky. She’s the best there has ever been athletically. There is not another figure skater who has ever laced up skates who could hold her skates. She has more talent than God has ever given anybody.”
–Larry McBride, owner,
Valley Ice Arena, Beaverton, Oregon
as quoted in The Oregonian
“Tonya eats, lives, breathes, sleeps because she wants skating. And if someone tells her she can’t do it, she’ll do it … better and better.”
–LaVona Golden,
Tonya’s mother
“Most girls needed to be talked into doing some of the hard things. Not Tonya. She’d try anything. She was fearless.”
*–Antje Spethmann, skater
as quoted in The Oregonian
“People like her because she’s a great skater, not because she’s Tonya. She has an air about her that puts people off, an air of, ‘If you don’t like it, tough luck, that’s me.’ That’s a hard way to make friends.”
–David Webber,
father of one of Tonya’s closest friends
THIN ICE
The Complete, Uncensored Story
of Tonya Harding,
America’s Bad Girl of Ice Skating
Frank Coffey
and Joe Layden
PINNACLE E-BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.Kensingtonbooks.com
Contents
Title Page
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
The Case of Characters
one
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Epilogue
Appendix A
Appendix B
Appendix C
Appendix D
Appendix E
About the Author
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
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119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 1994 TD Media
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are
Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First electronic edition: February 2018
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4497-9
ISBN-10: 0-7860-4497-7
This book is dedicated to Tony Seidl, who accelerates from zero to 60 faster than any man or woman in all of book publishing.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Those of us who work in publishing know that all books are created by group effort; the following people made valued contributions to a project executed under a challenging deadline. At Pinnacle Books we’d especially like to thank our talented editors, Paul Dinas and Ann LaFarge, publisher Walter Zacharius, publicity director Laura Shatzkin, and editorial assistant, Susan Lippe. Thanks also to Deborah Hartnett, John Pynchon Holms, Robert Engle and Sherry Tunkel, the finest canape purveyor in all of Manhattan.
–FC & JL
To my wife, Sue, whose patience and understanding allowed me to chase a dream. And to the Albany Times Union, for its support and encouragement.
–JL
To my brother Wayne–in this case the competition. I hope I’ll be buying.
–FC
Tragedy:
a serious play having an unhappy or disastrous ending brought about by the characters or central character impelled, in ancient drama, by fate or, more recently, by moral weakness, psychological maladjustment or social pressures.
–Webster’s New World Dictionary
“In skating over thin ice our safety is in our speed.”
–Ralph Waldo Emerson
The Cast of Characters
TONYA HARDING: 23 years old. Born and raised in Portland, Oregon. Two-time U.S. national figure skating champion. Began skating when she was not quite four years old. Showed tremendous promise at an early age. Small (5’ 1”, 105 pounds), but very athletic, aggressive skater. First American woman ever to land a triple Axel in competition. Childhood was extremely difficult. Mother was allegedly abusive, father suffered from physical problems that often prevented him from working. Family had little money and stability–had eight different addresses in the Portland area while Harding was growing up. Married Jeff Gillooly in 1990, when she was 19 years old. Filed several complaints with police during their three-year marriage. Divorced Gillooly in summer of 1993, but reconciled shortly thereafter. Volatile personality and “rough edges” prevented her from landing many endorsements. Implicated in the attack on Nancy Kerrigan, but not charged. Said she learned of the plot after it happened, but denied any prior knowledge.
NANCY KERRIGAN: 24 years old. Resident of Stoneham, Massachusetts. Assaulted on January 6 at Cobo Arena in Detroit following a practice session for the nationals. Named to U.S. Olympic team despite being unable to compete in nationals (which serve as Olympic Trials). Bronze medalist in 1992 Olympics. National champion in 1993. Had been skating particularly well in the months prior to her attack, and was favored to win at the nationals. Was, and is, a valuable endorsement commodity.
JEFF GILLOOLY: 26 years old. Allegedly masterminded the plot to assault Nancy Kerrigan. Portland resident. Graduated from David Douglas High School in 1985. Worked as a clothing store salesman and as a conveyor belt operator for the Oregon Liquor Control Commission. Married Tonya Harding in March, 1990. Theirs has been a stormy relationship, filled with passion and pain. They have separated on several occasions. Twice–in 1991 and 1993–Gillooly was the recipient of a restraining order barring him from coming near Harding. They divorced in the summer of 1993, reconciled a few months later. Described as a bit of a control freak by some. Tried, in 1992, to serve as Harding’s coach, though he knew almost nothing about figure skating. The arrangement did not last.
SHAWN ERIC ECKARDT: 26 years old. Portland resident. Allegedly helped arrange the plot to assault Nancy Kerrigan. Described by virtually all who knew him as “a blowhard.” A big man (320 pounds) with big dreams–fantasies, really. A computer hacker who lived with his parents and yet fancied himself a master of espionage and counter-terrorism. Tossed out such phrases as “asset-protection strategies.” Résumé included such outrageous lies as “successfully tracked and targeted terrorist cells throughout the Middle East, Central America and Europe; coordinated and conducted successful hostage retrieval operations.” According to the dates on the résumé, Eckardt accomplished these remarkable feats of bravery when he was between 16 and 20 years of age. A high school and community college dropout who liked to pretend that he could arrange protection or mayhem; that he could move illegal goods, including drugs, if necessary. Fascinated by guns and survivalism and wealth, and yet he ran his small business, World Bodyguard Services, Inc., out of his parents’ house and drove a 1974 Mercury with missing hubcaps.
A boyhood chum of Jeff Gillooly.
SHANE MINOAKA STANT: 22 years old. The man who allegedly attacked Nancy Kerrigan. B
orn in Portland, spent time in California as a child, returned to Portland as a teenager. Resident of Phoenix, where he lives with his uncle, Derrick Smith. A bounty hunter and survivalist. A rugged, sometimes hostile young man who carries 225 pounds on his 6-foot frame. Prominent scars on his face and head. Looked like a body-builder, which was precisely what he was. According to former classmates and acquaintances, Stant liked a good fight. Fascinated by violence. Arrested in 1991 for allegedly taking four cars from the parking lot of an auto dealership and going for a joyride. Spent 15 days in jail. Talked of becoming a bodyguard.
DERRICK BRIAN SMITH: Allegedly drove the getaway car for his nephew, Shane Stant. Overweight, balding, appears far older than his 29 years. Resident of Phoenix. Former resident of Corbett, Oregon, near Portland. Friend of Shawn Eckardt, with whom he shared an interest in paramilitary activities. Former night janitor who moved to Phoenix with the hope of setting up his own “anti-terrorist training academy.” His home in Corbett, according to neighbors, was an exercise in paramilitary madness, with barbed wire and bent-tree boobytraps surrounding the property. Armed services veteran who frequently told acquaintances that he had done work for a Swiss company that specialized in counterterrorism.
LaVONA GOLDEN: Mother of Tonya Harding. Married six times, and has filed for divorce from her current husband, James Golden, whom she married when Tonya was 17 years old. Widely described “mother-from-hell” for her allegedly abusive behavior toward her daughter, defends herself as a strict but caring mother who gave her daughter “everything we had.” A hardscrabble life. Lived in numerous homes and trailers. Hardworking waitress through the years, who often hand-sewed her daughter’s costumes. Has reported she suffered abuse in some relationships.
One
Outside Cobo Arena, winter tightened its grip.
The snow fell hard and fast, enveloping downtown Detroit in a shroud of white. This was Thursday, January 6, 1994, and it was not a particularly nice day for a drive in the Motor City. It was not a particularly nice day for much of anything in the Midwest, where folks were reeling from the effects of what was shaping up as one of the nastier winters in recent history. Detroit’s traffic slowed to a crawl; mass transit schedules were thrown hopelessly out of whack; pedestrians lowered their heads, leaned into the elements and cursed under their breath, the steam rising with their words in a feeble display of anger and rebellion. It was a cold day. A mean day.
Nevertheless, a few hundred people had gathered in the stands at Cobo to watch the final day of practice prior to the 1994 U.S. Figure Skating Association (USFSA) championships. They were zealots, mostly–little girls in pigtails who had been rising before dawn to work on their compulsories, and their parents, who had paid for lessons and skates and ice time and sequined outfits … plus an everpresent band of hardcore fans.
These were the people who truly understood the magnitude of this event, who could appreciate the dedication and sacrifice and pain that had gone into simply qualifying for the Olympic Trials. Maybe some of those little girls would make it themselves one day. Maybe. For now, though, they were content to watch, dreamily, as their idols cut up the ice. They cheered and applauded and begged for autographs.
Outside the storm raged on, but in here it was warm. In here it was another world, apart and separate, governed only by the rules of fair competition.
During the course of the week their jaws had dropped as they watched the likes of 23-year-old Tonya Harding of Portland, Oregon, Kerrigan’s chief rival the past few years, and 13-year-old Michelle Kwan of Torrance, California perform their artistic wonders.
But their favorite–America’s favorite–was Nancy Kerrigan. At once strong and elegant, the 24-year-old from Stoneham, Massachusetts, was the picture of athletic grace and beauty on the ice, yet soft-spoken, almost delicate, when distanced from competition. In fact, that delicacy had occasionally been a source of distress for Kerrigan in the past. After winning the nationals in 1993, she had fairly bombed at the world championships in Prague, finishing fifth when it was expected that she would contend for a gold medal.
Kerrigan was a bundle of nerves then, a world-class athlete suffering from a devastating case of performance anxiety. Oddly enough, coming off her victory in the nationals, she seemed to lack confidence. Even in the relative privacy of practice she would deliberately omit certain moves from her long program. Maybe she feared injury. Maybe she questioned her own talent. Whatever the motivation, whatever the source of the emotion, it was clear that Kerrigan was scared, and the result, predictably, was a hugely disappointing fifth-place finish.
On that day in March, after finishing her program and while awaiting the inevitable modest scores from the judges, Kerrigan broke into tears. “I just want to die,” she said to her coaches, Evy Scotvold and his wife Mary. A microphone picked up the words and a national television audience swelled with sympathy.
Life had been better for Nancy Kerrigan since then, though. In the months following, she rededicated herself to the sport of figure skating. She worked harder than ever. She lifted more weights, skated longer and harder in practice, increased her aerobic capabilities. She enlisted the services of a sports psychologist–someone who, presumably, would be able to peek into her mind and fortify her fragile psyche.
The poor performance at the world championship trials notwithstanding, endorsement offers were flooding into the offices of Kerrigan’s agent, Jerry Solomon of ProServ. It was no surprise, really; she was, after all, a stunning beauty, with a bright smile and high cheekbones that prompted some to label her “the Katharine Hepburn of figure skating.” Kerrigan turned down many of the offers, though. She wanted to concentrate on skating. She wanted to prove something to herself and to the world.
“She’s never worked this hard before,” Kerrigan’s longtime coach, Evy Scotvold, told Sports Illustrated during the nationals. “She’s never done the run-throughs she’s doing now. Double run-throughs. Going for perfect run-throughs. She’s in fantastic shape. Her power is incredible. When she skates she looks like she needs a bigger ice surface.”
The fear, apparently, was gone, the apprehension melted away. Kerrigan was poised to defend her title and, more importantly, move on to Lillehammer, Norway, site of the 1994 winter Olympics.
In Kerrigan’s mind, that was the way it would work. Her fans envisioned the drama unfolding in similar fashion. And so they stood and cheered wildly when she skated onto the ice that afternoon in Detroit, looking so perfect, so feminine, so athletic, in a white lace dress and pearl earrings, her hair tugged back in a ponytail.
It was the first of two scheduled practice sessions for Kerrigan; a second was planned for 11:30 that evening. But because the weather was foul and the hour was late, Kerrigan fretted over the possibility of not getting back to Cobo for a second workout. She opted to stay late during the afternoon session; she was, in fact, the last skater to leave the ice.
For reasons that have not been adequately addressed, security at Cobo Arena that day was far from tight. Members of the media wore official press credentials and thus had access to most areas of the building. Unfortunately, so did just about everyone else. Fans and sociopaths alike could leave their seats high above the ice and stroll casually to the edge of the rink, where they could then stand an arm’s length from the object of their affection–or their disdain–for several minutes at a time.
Eventually, a security guard or usher would come along and shoo them away, but in the meantime they would get their brush with fame, their glimpse of stardom.
“You could walk through anywhere without showing a badge,” noted Frank Carroll, Michelle Kwan’s coach. That observation was supported by San Francisco Examiner columnist Joan Ryan, who told the Associated Press that security throughout the entire arena was, in her opinion, unusually lax.
It was in this unintentionally permissive environment that a large man in a black leather coat, black hat and khaki pants was able to position himself for what seemed at the time to be a random
act of senseless violence. The man, with what appeared to be a legitimate credential of some sort draped around his neck, was spotted first by Kathy Stuart, a skating coach. In an Associated Press story published the following day, Stuart said the man appeared to be videotaping Kerrigan’s practice session. She also observed that he was “sweating a lot.”
Frank Carroll told Sports Illustrated that the same man had approached him and, pointing in Kerrigan’s direction, had asked, “Is that Nancy Kerrigan?”
Carroll said that it was, but also thought to himself, “This is strange.”
“He was an odd man. He was jittery, sweating,” Carroll said. “He had a camera and he was taking pictures very fast. I didn’t see where he went or whether he was the man who did it, but the next thing I knew, Nancy was on the floor, screaming.”
At 2:40 p.m. an announcement had come over the public address system signaling the end of the afternoon practice session. Kerrigan walked off the ice and headed for her dressing room. She passed through a blue curtain into a hallway leading to the locker room.
The hallway, carpeted in red, was supposed to be a private area, accessible only to athletes, coaches, security and administrative personnel. Reporters were not to be admitted. Clearly, though, security was something of an afterthought, for when Kerrigan reached the hallway, she was intercepted by a woman named Dana Scarton, a reporter for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Scarton wanted to fire a few questions at Kerrigan, and the skater obliged.
As they spoke, the man in the black leather jacket appeared from behind. He ran at them, silently, assuredly, as if on a mission. Quickly he wedged himself between Scarton and Kerrigan and swung what appeared to be a black metal rod at Kerrigan’s right knee. The blow struck with such force that witnesses would later say the crack could be heard outside the hallway, in the stands.
Kerrigan fell to the floor and screamed–three times. Those screams, like the blow to her leg–the leg (not coincidentally, as it turned out) that is most vital to a skater’s performance [she pushes off on her right leg when she jumps, and she lands on her right leg] could be heard throughout the arena.
