by Tom Jordan
Pre warmed up with Shorter and they exchanged thoughts about race goals. “There was an understanding between us that we would go together sharing the lead until a half-mile to go, and then whoever won, won,” Shorter says. “But the object was to run under 13:00.”
Steve and Frank Shorter (left) alternated the lead during the 1974 Hayward Restoration three-mile in Eugene, Oregon, while Knut Kvalheim and Don Kardong tried to hang on. Steve won and set an American record. ERIK HILL
Working together, Pre and Shorter dropped the good field after a mile in 4:16.5, just a second off world-record pace.
Through nine laps in 9:44, the agreement worked; then Pre led for two straight.
“I don’t think Frank held up his part of the bargain toward the end of the race,” Pre groused later.
They had entered the stage of fast races where the protests of the body overrule the willingness of the mind. Then Shorter gathered, and with a quarter-mile remaining, shot into the lead.
The din, already awesome, increased in volume. Don Kardong, running alone in third place, had never heard anything like it. “I almost stopped,” he says, “because it was really loud, and they weren’t even watching me. The fans were pounding those wooden stands and shouting—beyond exciting, so loud, it was unnerving.”
Into the backstretch, and all eyes were on Shorter and Pre and the 10-yard gap between them. They approached the last bend with the outcome still very much in doubt. Shorter, however, could feel himself tighten.
“When I started sprinting in the last 220, I knew I was dying, and I knew that I was going to go into the wind up the homestretch. So I thought that if he had anything left, he was probably going to get me.”
Pre sensed the break. “I knew I had a chance with a 220 to go,” he remarked. “I just relaxed, felt fresh again, and started accelerating.”
Shorter was far from giving up, “but it was just a situation where you’re going as hard as you can and that’s it—there’s nothing more there. I thought if I could get within 30 yards of the finish I could get him, because he tended to die a little bit in the last 10 to 15 yards. He caught me well before that, about 80 yards out.”
Pre was running one of his fastest finishes ever, regardless of the length of the race, and he pulled ahead to win by 0.6 second in an American record of 12:51.4.
Years later, Shorter had this to say about the race: “I was trying to beat him, I can assure you of that. But Pre was the favorite son, and that was probably the difference. When I think of Oregon, I think of the homesteader mentality: tough, hard-nosed, direct. That was Pre. You cheered for him, you knew you’d get something in return.”
As they warmed down together, Steve’s fans offered congratulations to them both. One friend down on the crowded infield asked, “What happened out there? I thought you slowed down.” Pre said, “Yeah, I almost let him win. I was just thinking it wasn’t that big a deal. Then, I don’t know, something inside of me just said, ‘Hey, wait a minute, I want to beat him,’ and I just took off!”
Later, when the reporters asked how he had pulled it out, Pre’s answer encapsulated the strength he received from racing in Eugene.
“The idea of losing the three at Hayward Field and the idea of losing my specialty to someone who wasn’t running his specialty. Mostly, the idea of losing in front of my people. They haven’t forgotten about me.”
JEFF JOHNSON
8
Pre and His People
It was a unique love affair that the people of Coos Bay and Eugene had with Steve Prefontaine, and he with them. The intense loyalty he felt to his origins and his adopted community, combined with a prodigious talent and natural flamboyance, produced a personality that the two towns proudly came to cheer and embrace.
“That man has something no runner in my time had,” Bill Dellinger once mused to Kenny Moore of Sports Illustrated. “We used to warm up out of sight behind the stands, and we would never have considered taking a victory lap. But Pre . . . he’s almost like a movie star in his relationship with the crowd. He thrives on it.”
For “His People,” the feeling was mystical. “The last laps of his races were the most exciting moments I’ve ever experienced in viewing sports,” is how one of Steve’s fans summarized the feeling.
“The crowd was always on its feet, the excitement generated was riotous. The race was a victory for ‘Pre’s People’ as much as for the runner himself. There will never be another sound like ‘Go Pre!’ There is no way the people of Eugene will ever forget Steve.”
The feeling was there in Coos Bay, both during Steve’s high school days and later, when he returned to visit. In the words of sportswriter Kenn Hess, who chronicled Pre’s high school career for the Coos Bay World, the familiar refrain around the town at the time was, “‘There goes Pre,’ as he ran by along the highway, through the park or across the playgrounds during seemingly endless workouts. He attracted admiration, if not some awe.”
And when he visited the town in later years of greater fame, “he always had a few moments for friendly chitchat. He almost always seemed to steer a conversation to ‘how are you doing and what’s new with you,’ and seemed to prefer not to talk about himself or his latest exploit or disappointment. He was grassroots when he came home to see his parents and to visit.”
His fame was welcomed by the town, as evidenced by the local movie theater owner who put “Go Pre” vanity license plates on his car, and by the all-weather track that, but for Pre, would still be cinders. And nearly everyone who ever met him, in either Coos Bay or Eugene or elsewhere, has some vignette, some story that for them typifies Steve Prefontaine.
In Their Voices
I was down at the AAU Championships in 1969 in Miami. I had arrived four or five days early and was down in the dorms where the athletes were staying. And I noticed this—well, I would have called him a very young, little, high school kid hanging around Lindgren and Bacheler, like a groupie.
One afternoon, I had just gotten in the elevator, and just as the door was closing, this little thing squirts in the door. It was that kid! He says, ‘What do you do?’ And I said, ‘I don’t do anything; I just take pictures for Track & Field News.’ ‘Oh yeah, what’s your name? Oh yeah, I’ve heard of you.’ I didn’t see him again until he was down at the starting line for the three-mile.
From that first meeting, no matter what the race in later years—he’d be warming up for a big one, and he had a lot of them—he would come jogging by and always give me a little wink and a wave and then go on about his business.
—Jeff Johnson, photographer
Author’s Note: At the 1972 Olympic Trials in Eugene, an event that was widely misinterpreted at the time was the so-called “T-shirt Incident.” A group of track fans revealed shirts with a “Stop Pre” logo on them just before the start of the 5000 final. John Auka and John Gillespie, two of the instigators, between them saw nearly every race Pre ever ran in Eugene.
STEVE PREFONTAINE
It was really done in fun because face it, John and I thought Prefontaine was the greatest thing in the world. I went down to Penney’s and bought 30 of their best T-shirts. We thought we would top the “Go Pre” shirts that were being sold. The first person to be seen with one on was Gerry Lindgren, when he was running a warm-up lap. He sprinted around in his stop sign. Then a group of about 10 of us took off our shirts at once to expose the “Stop Pre” T-shirts on underneath. Several of the people around us muttered some unkind things when they realized what the shirts said.
Pre won in a cakewalk, of course. And after he started his victory lap and got halfway around, Gillespie ripped off his “Stop Pre” T-shirt and started waving it at Pre, who looked at it and kind of pointed to himself with a quizzical look on his face. And John said, “Yes, yes,” and Pre put on the shirt and finished his victory lap.
Some people missed the point that it was all in fun, but Pre didn’t.
—John Auka, track fan
Steve receives the spoils
of his Trials victory from track fan John Gillespie. DON CHADEZ
STEVE PREFONTAINE
That summer morning [in 1973], after my legs and lungs had burned out trying to copy Pre’s style, he stopped and we chatted. We talked briefly of our dogs. We talked of food stamps, a student’s best friend and something we were grateful to have. We talked of profs in the school of journalism who gave us more trouble than we thought we deserved.
Part of the attraction for Pre was that he was a regular guy. He drove a tacky old Ford station wagon. He took his dog to class. And on Friday afternoons, you’d see him quaffing beer at one of the slick bars off campus, like Duffy’s or the Paddock, a favorite ritual for most of us. They’d give him all the beer he could drink, which was considerable, to pour a little beer, or to check ID, or to stand around and talk to other beer drinkers.
He was celebrated. He was loved. And he was one of the guys.
The first time I asked Pre for an interview, I was just starting as a sportswriter for the Daily Emerald, the University of Oregon student newspaper. He said no, he was far too busy. Listen, I said, I need to get this story, Steve, it’s important. He said he’d give me an interview because I called him Steve. He got tired of everybody calling him Pre.
“Some people create with words or with music or with a brush and paints,” he said. “I like to make something beautiful. When I run, I like to make people stop and say, ‘I’ve never seen anyone run like that before.’ It’s more than just a race, it’s style. It’s doing something better than anyone else. It’s being creative.”
If you ever saw Pre run, you’re lucky. The sight of him rounding the last turn and looking up at the clock will be forever frozen in my memory. The same is true of the way he scratched my dog’s ears and muttered the silly things people say to dogs.
—Don Chapman, former sports editor, East Oregonian
STEVE PREFONTAINE
I remember the only time I talked to him for any length was at the Munich Sheraton in 1973 on a big tour. I remember he talked about himself an awful lot—I was surprised. I thought he’d be a lot more formal. He told me that he didn’t speak much English until he was five years old because his Mom was from Germany. He talked about his family a little bit, about his plans for the future, just small-talk things. It surprised me that he was as open and talked as easily as he did. I had expected him to be a big dynamic personality that you almost couldn’t get next to.
—Dick Buerkle, Olympian
STEVE PREFONTAINE
It was always like, ‘Hey, there’s a party going on,’ when you met him. He’d say, ‘Hey Macker, how are you?’ He always called me Macker for some reason. “Hey you got to come; it’ll be great,” and so on. Really friendly and warm, and then, “Got to get going, see you later!”
I couldn’t understand why when one of the best-looking girls on campus would come up and ask him for a date two weeks down the road, he’d say, “Well, I don’t know, I have to check my schedule.” But basically, all this behavior that may have been abrasive or seemed cocky was just him being focused and honest.
—Mac Wilkins, Oregon teammate and 1976 Olympic discus gold medalist
STEVE PREFONTAINE
Was he more subdued in Europe? Not when I was with him, he wasn’t. I think maybe I saw him not subdued a few times over there. Perhaps he was on the average more subdued, but he was definitely not subdued.
—Al Feuerbach, former world-record holder in the shot put, and a party companion
STEVE PREFONTAINE
In March 1974, we held a benefit dinner for a 14-year-old boy who had lost his left leg in a motorcycle accident. When Steve Prefontaine arrived, he was instantly surrounded by kids and responded to them beautifully.
After talking with the kids, he asked if he could be of any help. Since the gym activities were already well-staffed, he asked if he could help dish up the spaghetti dinners. Serve he did—for the rest of the day!
—Jane Fleener, Eugene resident
STEVE PREFONTAINE
He liked to build things and use his hands. In the winter of 1974–1975, he built a sauna in his garage. Similar to those he’d used in Finland. And let me tell you this was an A-l job. He was also very pleased with his garden every summer. These are things he was very proud of and things he planned on getting into after he retired. Steve was always talking about the future after running. They were always different, one week maybe working for a friend in some business or the next week buying a lot of land and being a farmer. But one thing he said he’d do was win the gold medal at Montreal.
—Mark Feig, Oregon teammate
STEVE PREFONTAINE
My son was so inspired by Steve, and he ran for Springfield High School. If Steve could make it, and he usually did, he’d come to watch my son Dan run in the dual meets. He’d be on the track yelling his head off encouraging Dan. My son’s running paid off. He joined the Army and became a member of the U.S. Modern Pentathlon team. If it hadn’t been for Steve, I’m sure things would be different. But then Steve encouraged many, many kids.
—Dee Williams, Pre’s cousin
Pre-mania. JEFF JOHNSON
It also bothered him when he was accused of not supporting women’s track. Pre was very knowledgeable about women’s track and was a great supporter. Even with his busy schedule, Pre found the time to write workouts and time a couple of the better women runners in Eugene.
All this criticism came about after a reporter asked Pre if he thought that the women’s times were catching up with the men’s. Pre’s response was that his average mile time for six miles was faster than the women’s American mile record. Women still had a ways to go. That prompted some women to write calling Pre a male chauvinist. He tacked up the letter with the strongest language on his kitchen bulletin board. Even though he laughed about it and called her ignorant, he seemed concerned that there might be others who misunderstood his meaning.
—Steve Bence, Oregon teammate
STEVE PREFONTAINE
Whenever there was a chance, Pre and I would run and train together. During that time, I sensed a closeness as we would share sweat and conversation. I particularly enjoyed Pre’s lack of shyness. If I signed an autograph “Go with God,” he’d ask why. Very few people ask why. Pre was that unique person who wanted to know and would not take things for granted.
—Jim Ryun, former mile world-record holder
STEVE PREFONTAINE
He had charisma. That word—there’s something about somebody when you tell people you’re going to do something, and then you go out and do it. I know of no single person who could draw people like he did. You could have had a high school meet, and if you announced Pre was running, you’d have an overflow crowd. The Eugene people really admired his gutsiness.
No matter what the race . . . my Lord! The 1500 he ran against Hailu Ebba was the greatest race he ever ran. You talk about gutsy—there was no way Pre could have lost that. What I’m saying is—Steve Prefontaine, there in Eugene—you could just feel the strength of the crowd go into him.
STEVE PREFONTAINE
It was a living legend that the clouds went away when Pre stepped on the track. It’s really true. The track meet would be going, and Pre would jog into the stadium, and in the first place, everybody would start applauding him. The minute he took a step on it, the clouds would start . . . clearing up. The sun would shine through. It sounds funny, but I can remember just offhand four or five times, and I’m guessing there must have been more. I can remember people turning to somebody else and saying, “It’s doing it again.”
—John Gillespie, coach and fan
“It was a living legend that the clouds went away when Pre stepped on the track.” —John Gillespie, track fan JEFF JOHNSON
9
Europe
“Europe” to the American athlete of the 1970s was a word full of promise. It meant late-night flights, little training time, and jammed racing schedules. It also meant good times, new friends, and track
crowds of a size rarely seen in the United States.
In Scandinavia, especially, summer was a time for every small town to promote a meet, bring in some of the world’s best athletes, and watch great track and field. It perhaps could only happen in cultures where professional sports do not monopolize the spectator dollar—in any case, it still makes Europe the meeting place of the world’s track and field athletes.
Ten days after the Hayward Restoration meet, Pre ran his first race in Europe for the 1974 season. It was a 3000-meter in Tampere, Finland, against Olympic 1500-winner Pekka Vasala. Pre planned a six-week tour, most of it in Finland, with occasional junkets to Sweden and any other countries that could make it worth his while. In this race, he showed no signs of jet lag, winning by over four seconds in a solid 7:55.8. It was a good beginning to a tour on which he averaged a meet nearly every third day.
The first important 5000 of the tour was eight days later, at the World Games in Helsinki, Finland. At a glance, the participants looked like they might have been transported from an Oregon Twilight meet of a year or two before: besides Pre, Paul Geis was there, as well as Oregon grads Arne and Knut Kvalheim of Norway.
