The Final Race

by Eric T. Eichinger

  Despite the joys of victory, what Eric looked most forward to was returning to normal life. But he soon discovered there was nothing normal about being a gold-medal champion.

  After Eric returned to the United Kingdom, he shifted from training for the Olympics to preparing for graduation from the University of Edinburgh, which was only a few days away.

  On Thursday, July 17, 1924, Eric walked into McEwan Hall of the University of Edinburgh with his classmates, each one dressed in graduation-day finery.

  These were the days before microphones and PA systems, so graduation marshals were required to use the power of their lungs and voices from the center of the stage. As the graduating class of 1924 received their diplomas, family and friends sat quietly within the massive Italian Renaissance–inspired room when the students’ names were called. As the graduates received their diplomas, the applause came as light patter, the people being respectful of the reverberations caused by the large dome ceiling. Then Principal and Vice Chancellor Sir Alfred Ewing called out, “Bachelor of Science degree, Mr. Eric Henry Liddell.”

  Eric took the steps, and as his foot met the highly polished floorboards of the stage, the crowd—both observers and students—rose in deafening applause. Long minutes passed as Eric cast his smile from the teary-eyed faculty and distinguished guests who sat on red velvet seats, to his fellow classmates, then outward to the rest of the audience. The tide had turned in his favor—and Eric had been made a better man because of it, in spite of having been in fine standing to begin with. He’d endured the confusion of his countrymen—those who, even of the same beliefs, could not quite understand his steadfastness. He had returned from the Olympics as a gold medalist and as a national hero but—more importantly—as a man who’d stood his ground.

  Finally, Sir Alfred raised his hands and requested silence. Slowly the people quieted and returned to their seats.

  “Mr. Liddell,” Sir Alfred began, “you have shown that none can pass you but the examiner!” A light chuckle met Eric’s ears, and he smiled. Sir Alfred continued,

  In the ancient Olympic tests the victor was crowned with wild olive by the High priest of Zeus, and a poem written in his honour was presented to him. A Vice-Chancellor is no High Priest, but he speaks and acts for the University; and in the name of the University, which is proud of you, and to which you have brought fresh honour, I present you with this epigram in Greek, composed by Professor Mair, and place upon your head this chaplet of wild olive.[12]

  Sir Alfred then placed a wreath made of oleaster atop Eric’s head. (He used oleaster because olive trees do not grow in Edinburgh, but oleaster, which does, is a garden derivative from the olive plant.) Again, the crowd cheered.

  The epigram, translated into English, read as follows:

  Happy the man who the wreathed games essaying

  Returns the laurelled brow,

  Thrice happy victor thou, such speed displaying

  As none hath showed till now;

  We joy, and Alma Mater, for thy merit

  Proffers to thee this crown:

  Take it, Olympic Victor. While you wear it

  May Heaven never frown.[13]

  After the other names had been called and the diplomas received, neither Eric’s friends nor the crowd had any interest in modesty. They hoisted Eric up on a chair supported by poles at its base and paraded him like a pharaoh, navigating him through a cheering crowd of men, women, and children, all the way to the doors of St. Giles’ Cathedral, the birthplace of the Presbyterian Church, for the traditional service of thanksgiving. Overtures quickly came for Eric to give a response to the accolades.

  Eric recalled his trip to the Penn Relays in the United States and mustered an extemporaneous response. “Over the gates of Pennsylvania University,” he said,

  are inscribed these words: “In the dust of defeat as well as the laurels of victory there is glory to be found if one has done his best.” There are many men and women who have done their best, but who have not succeeded in gaining the laurels of victory. To them, as much honor is due as to those who have received these laurels.[14]

  After the service at St. Giles’, Eric moved onward to the graduation luncheon at University Union. Though it was not normal for a recent graduate with only a bachelor’s degree to be so honored, Eric became the central focus. Professor Richard Lodge, a noted historian, gave a special tribute to Eric: “Even a bachelor of science graduate should have no difficulty in translating his fancy Greek epigram, since the recipient is both a Liddell and a Scot.”[15]

  Those in the room laughed at the jest toward the popular Liddell and Scott Greek-English Lexicon.

  After Professor Lodge concluded his speech, the crowd again pressed Eric to say a few words.

  Eric said,

  I ask you to remember today that I suffer from a certain defect of constitution. I am a short-distance runner, a sprinter. Because I suffer from short-windedness, therefore I will not detain you for long.

  The papers have told you that my form, my action, is extremely bad. But this condition can probably be traced to my forefathers. As we all know in Scotland, the Borderers used to visit England now and then, and escape back as quickly as possible. It was no doubt the practice of my forefathers to do this. The speed with which my forefathers returned from England seems to have been handed down in my family from generation to generation. They had to get back as best they could, and one did not look for correct action. So this probably explains my own running action.

  The crowd laughed.

  Eric continued:

  A man is composed of three parts—body, mind, and soul. And if the University system continues to teach toward what each is entitled to, it will get the best and truest graduates from the University. When it is realized that they not only store the mind with knowledge, but that they also have to educate the body for the strenuous life it has to go through, and remember that they were of the spirit as well, the University will pass down graduates who are really worthy of taking their place in any field of life.[16]

  With the luncheon over, the festivities continued. If Eric had grown weary of the accolades, he would be forced to endure them for a while longer as both he and Sir Alfred Ewing entered a “carriage” pulled by muscled athletes rather than horses. Sir Alfred and Eric were taken to Sir Alfred’s home for afternoon tea.

  “Never,” Sir Alfred later said, “have I ever basked in so much reflected glory.”[17]

  The next day a dinner was held in Eric’s honor at Mackie’s Dining Salon—an idea that had originated from a group of congratulatory men who had sent Eric a telegram while he was in Paris. Noted theologian and jurist Lord Sands, the provost Sir William Lowrie Sleigh, and Sir Alfred Ewing were all present in the company of more than one hundred distinguished guests.

  This was a unique moment in the history of Edinburgh, Scotland. The corporation of the city had surely welcomed and celebrated many worthy guests in the past—soldiers, statesmen, and elite leaders—but this was their first chance to do so with an Olympian. Eric Liddell was, simply put, the finest athlete Scotland had ever produced.

  During his keynote address, Lord Sands said,

  [I] had always understood that the quarter-mile was one of the most sporting and interesting of races. It was also one of the most gruelling, and it was somewhat remarkable that it happened to be the only Olympic race which had been won by a Scotsman. In these days of moral flabbiness it was something to find a man who was not content to shield himself behind such easy phrases as “It was once in a way” or “When you go to Rome you must do as they do in Rome.”[18]

  Lord Sands also arranged for a cablegram to be sent to Eric’s parents in China stating cordial congratulations on “Eric’s wonderful feat, and still more on his noble witness for Christian principles.”[19]

  Sir William Sleigh presented Eric with a gold watch inscribed with the arms of the City of Edinburgh and the words “Presented by the Corporation of Edinburgh to Eric H. Liddell, B.Sc., in reco
gnition of his brilliant achievement in winning in record time the 400 metres at the Olympic games—Paris, 1924—W. L. Sleigh, Lord Provost.”[20]

  Eric spoke to the assembly in his soft voice, but his character refused to allow him to revel in the limelight. Humility and humor were hallmarks in Eric’s delivery. On arriving at the dinner, he noticed his initials on the program—E. H. L. He said, “My parents had first named me Henry Eric Liddell, but before it became officially registered, a friend suggested to my father that the initials H. E. L. might be rather awkward. This evening would certainly have been an occasion on which they would have been awkward.”[21]

  Understanding that those in the room would want him to say something—anything—about his Olympic experience, he shared the story of having received the note in Paris that reminded him of God’s Word in 1 Samuel. “He that honoureth me, I shall honour,” he quoted.

  “It was perhaps the finest thing I experienced in Paris, a great surprise and a great pleasure to know there were others who shared my sentiments about the Lord’s day.”[22] Eric spoke a few additional words to remind them of his ultimate goal to return to China as a missionary. In spite of what many may have hoped, he would not make athletics his long-term career. God had made him fast, yes, but God had also made him for China. Decisions of when and specifications of how loomed. He would at some point within the next year depart as a missionary, and he was not sure what the future held exactly for his running during that time. But he was more than content to focus on serving Christ in the mission field.

  In closing he asked for their help and prayers. “Thank you very much indeed for giving me such a great honor tonight,” he said.

  A perplexed peace infused the gathering. It was as if the time for celebrating had abruptly come to an end, and the page of the Olympics had been turned. It was an unprecedented mood—most men in Eric’s position would have milked the honor he seemed to so easily shun—yet it was salvaged by the possibility that there might at least be one more season to enjoy his running.

  The Student did its best to provide words for the utterly astounding deflection of fame:

  Success in athletics, sufficient to turn the head of any ordinary man, has left Liddell absolutely unspoilt, and his modesty is entirely genuine and unaffected. He has taken his triumphs in his stride, as it were, and has never made any sort of fuss. What he has thought it right to do, that he has done, looking neither to the left nor to the right, and yielding not one jot or tittle of principle either to court applause or to placate criticism. Courteous and affable, he is utterly free from “gush.” Devoted to his principles, he is without a touch of Pharisaism. The best that can be said of any student is that he has left the fame of his University fairer than he found it, and his grateful Alma Mater is proud to recognise that to no man does that praise more certainly belong than to Eric Henry Liddell.[23]

  That night, Eric boarded a train for London to compete in a post-Olympics relay competition between the United States and the British Empire, which would be held the next day—which also happened to be the day of Rob’s missionary installation. Just as Rob had missed Eric’s big race in France, Eric would miss Rob’s big day in Britain.

  No open races were run, only four-man relay teams. The United States got the best of the Brits in the majority of the events, but Eric gave another memorable performance that saved the day . . . if not a bit of national dignity. During the anchor leg of the 4 x 400, Eric received the baton well behind the American star, Horatio Fitch. Eric drew in close at the finish and surpassed him soundly for an emphatic win by four yards, matching his Olympic medal time with a 400-meter relay split of 47.6.

  After the race, journalists crowded London’s King’s Cross railway station platform, their eyes searching for the Flying Scotsman.

  But Eric Liddell had spied a baggage porter . . .

  Minutes later, he boarded the train undetected, ready to return to Edinburgh.

  Ready to return to life . . . and to another looming question.

  [12] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 68.

  [13] Ibid.

  [14] Edward S. Seares, Running through the Ages (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, 2015), 168.

  [15] Russell W. Ramsey, God’s Joyful Runner (South Plainfield, NJ: Bridge, 1987), 53.

  [16] Ibid., 73.

  [17] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 70.

  [18] Ibid, 72.

  [19] Ibid.

  [20] Ibid., 73.

  [21] David McCasland, Eric Liddell: Pure Gold: A New Biography of the Olympic Champion Who Inspired Chariots of Fire (Grand Rapids, MI: Discovery House, 2001), 103.

  [22] Ibid.

  [23] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 74.

  CHAPTER 8

  DOCTRINAL DISCERNMENT

  Pay close attention to yourself and to your teaching; persevere in these things, for as you do this you will ensure salvation both for yourself and for those who hear you.

  1 Timothy 4:16, NASB

  Late Autumn 1924

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever known anyone who couldn’t say no quite like you, Eric,” D. P. told Eric at the end of another campaign.

  Eric stretched his legs from the seat he’d nearly collapsed into, one directly opposite the seat his friend slouched on. He glanced out the small window of the train, smudged with a child’s fingerprints from an earlier passage, to the platform on the other side. With a start the train took off, and—plank by plank—the station slid from view. “It’s impossible to estimate what a simple yes can measure out to be.”

  D. P. closed his eyes. “Still . . .”

  “Would you have me say no?” Eric’s smile broke easily as D. P.’s eyes opened at the mention of the two-letter word. “And, if so, to which request?”

  “Still,” D. P. repeated. He adjusted his long frame into a more comfortable position. Then, as his gaze found Eric, he continued, “But one day, Eric, when they ask me about you—and they will—I’ll have to say that as a leader—as a speaker—you’ve made more strides in the last six months than anyone I’ve ever encountered. You’re hardly the same man as the shy thing I asked to come to Armadale back when.”

  Eric leaned his head against the cold leather of the seat, then pulled his overcoat more tightly around him. “It helps that we get along so well,” he teased.

  Again, D. P. closed his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt, my friend. But I’ll tell you this—I’ve never known a man with finer character than you.”

  Eric looked down at his hands, taking note of his thumbnails.

  “And when they ask me,” D. P. continued as the night’s darkness fell around them, “I’ll say, ‘There was never a hitch or a shadow in our friendship.’”

  “No,” Eric whispered.

  “Due to you entirely, Eric.”

  Eric studied what little he could see of the calmness of D. P.’s face, then shut his own eyes. He was tired . . . so tired . . . and sleep—with the rocking of the train—should come easily now. “Not entirely,” he mumbled.

  “Yes,” D. P. said from what sounded like a world away. “Due to you entirely.” He paused. “Pure gold is what you are, Eric. Pure gold, through and through.”

  * * *

  AFTER HIS STUNNING OLYMPIC performance in the summer, of all the thrills and emotions Eric saw in people’s faces, none had matched D. P. Thomson’s. Thomson knew that with Eric’s crowning athletic achievement, the crowds would not be able to resist coming to hear him speak. The time was ripe to harness the zenith of Eric’s fame with the evangelism efforts in Britain.

  D. P. felt that if Eric left for China soon—as Eric was considering doing—it would bring that opportunity to a premature end. “Stay in Edinburgh,” D. P. suggested. “Begin seminary. T
hat way you’ll be better prepared for missionary work in China.”

  Eric listened with an open heart. He was determined to be a missionary, so it stood to reason that he should be equipped with some formal theological training.

  “You can continue your love of running,” D. P. continued, “as well as serve the Lord as an evangelistic missionary in Britain.”

  His friend and mentor made a compelling case, but Asia had a great need.

  Eric returned to his flat—now in Gillespie Crescent—where he found another piece of correspondence from young Elsa McKechnie. The Eric Liddell Fan Club had grown—a great deal, she told Eric—and their legion was all ears for more inspirational words and advice from him. Eric received the message, in more ways than one.

  God wanted him in China, but he could not argue with the window of opportunity he had to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ in Britain. A short while after his Olympic victory, Eric enrolled in the seminary at the Scottish Congregational College in Edinburgh and moved into a house in Merchiston Place, much to D. P. Thomson’s delight.

  During the month of September 1924, Eric and D. P. Thomson spoke in public meetings, first in Scotland and later in England. Their last event was held in Kilmarnock, a large burgh of forty thousand people located about twenty miles southwest of Glasgow. Each and every one of the Protestant churches there took part in the event.

  Later, D. P. wrote to his mother, saying,

  Kilmarnock has been a great experience. It finishes on Sunday and promises to finish grandly. Never has there been a finer spirit among the team, and never have we enjoyed such inspirational fellowship. We have gained five new members, splendid fellows all. 500 men turned out to hear Eric Liddell on the opening Sunday, and 1300 to the mass meeting at night. We had six meetings daily. On the second Sunday night we had 1700 at the Mass Meeting—One innovation proved very successful—a late meeting for young fellows attending evening classes.[24]