I have a letter from the legendary running editor Joe Henderson, dated July 16, 1976.
Starts out like this, “Dear Jack: Good work. Whatever approach you took in writing the article, it seemed to be the right one.”
Meant something back then coming from him. Meant a lot.
From Runner’s World, September 1976.
George Sheehan has written, “One of the beautiful things about running is that age has no penalties.”
The 1976 National Masters Championships underlined at Gresham, Oregon, the truth of that statement. And certainly, if any penalties have emerged, they were soon forgotten in the atmosphere of friendship and sharing.
It was a time of transition. The 39-year-old road racer, who last summer had struggled along in the middle of the pack, now found himself in the thick of the fray. That seemingly superhuman 49-year-old sprinter has turned 50, much to the joy of those younger athletes he left behind, and to the consternation of those he joined in his new age group.
Still, while some competitors were superior to others in physical talent, the Masters’ competitive engagements with themselves, each other and the record book provided a showcase for all that is great sport.
The heart of Masters track, former Olympic javelin thrower Phil Conley emphasized, is the individual athlete, each with his or her own reasons for participating.
Jack Greenwood may be the new kid in the 2A (ages 50-54) division, but he is hardly unknown. Last year, at the World Masters Championships in Toronto, he was merely exceptional as he won four gold medals against men as much as four years younger.
Now 50, the former Kansas University star has surpassed “exceptional.” He must be seen to be believed, and even then credibility is strained. Looking Lincolnesque in his Bicentennial beard, Greenwood collected six gold medals with victories in the 110- and the 400-meter hurdles, the 100-, 200- and 400-meter sprints, as well as the high jump.
The 400-meter hurdles time of 58:01 was probably the outstanding performance of the championships, lopping some five and a half seconds off the previous standard. His 400 hurdles time, plus those in the 110 hurdles (15.5) and flat 400 (53.58) were world age-group records.
When not participating in awards ceremonies, Greenwood could be seen making up enormous deficits running anchor legs in various relays. Surprisingly, he is training less than previously, competing infrequently and suffering a not unexpected letdown after his performances of 1975. Yet, having lost only one final in his masters career, Greenwood’s greater dissatisfaction results from a lack of competitors.
In much the same situation is middle-distance runner Bill Fitzgerald. Year after year, the fastest miler/half-miler of his age, 51-year-old Fitzgerald has slaked his competitive passions by obtaining special permission to compete against younger runners.
This year, Fitzgerald ran in the 1A (ages 40-44) 800-meter race. While he did not achieve his stated goal of a sub-two-minute mark, he did get the competition he was seeking. Running with athletes up to eleven (11) years his junior, Fitzgerald finished second with a time of 2:04.34 That took almost four seconds off the previous world best and earned for Fitzgerald his eighth consecutive age-group record (44-51 inclusive).
Jim O’Neil, a 51-year-old distance runner, also suffers from a dearth of competitors. But he compensates by running faster than he did as a collegian thirty (30) years ago. The Sacramento, California, investments counselor failed to set a personal best with his five-kilometer (5K) victory. But his 10,000-meter gold (33:30), with an en route six-mile time of 32:27, did establish PRs as well as two new American age-group records. O’Neil was pleased, but hardly satisfied. Ranked fourth in the world in 1975, Jim sees only continued improvement.
“I’m getting faster, and maybe those other three guys are getting older… I know I’m not,” he said.
One athlete who is perhaps getting older, but who clearly see little cause for concern, is Paul Spangler. The 77-year-old physician, whose talents extend from 400 meters through ten kilometers, and probably beyond, established eight (8) new age-group records in the course of winning five individual events. Compellingly enthusiastic, Spangler was momentarily dismayed at failing to set a ninth (9th) record, though he gained some solace from the knowledge that he already held the existing mark.
Not all the ahletes here competed with victories or records in mind.
Vance Hunter, a self-described “drifter” just a month short of 70, denied any competitive instincts. “I’m just a fitness runner,” Hunter said. “I just do it to keep myself in shape. I’ve never even raced in the United States, though I’ve run twice in Great Britain. I run three miles every day, so I thought I’d come here and do my workout with other people for a change.”
Hunter may not consider himself a competitor, yet he was obviously pleased with a workout a minute per mile faster than usual. Proudly displaying his bronze medal, Hunter looked forward, not to next year’s championships, but to the next day’s fitness run.
Health is also Burnis Hick’s reason for running, but she was racing here with a different goal.
“I entered all seven events (the 100, 200, 400, 800, 1500, 5000 and 10,000) because I didn’t see any times for my age-group,” the 63-year-old explained. “I wanted to set some records, to get some times on the books, so other women my age would have something to shoot for.”
Despite running as many as four (4) races in a single evening, the Arizonan established nine (9) world age-group records, with several coming in the sprints. And she considers herself a marathon specialist.
Virgil McIntyre is another record holder who started running for health reasons. The 65-year-old sprinter/high jumper began jogging several years after a lung resection, lost thirty-five (35) pounds and proceeded to establish numerous age-group standards.
As if his pulmonary problems were insufficiently adverse, McIntyre was forced to forego competition because of a complicated hip ailment. After two years of rest and special exercises, McIntyre puts it, “This country spends millions for health care. It depresses me that it doesn’t spend some of that to change the lifestyles. If America did that, there wouldn’t be such a need for health care.”
Joe Pardo runs for his health, for the fun of it, for reasons he cannot really explain and because he has always run.
“I’ve run all my life,” Joe said. “Well, almost all my life. I’m 52, and I started when I was nine.”
Pardo has been running forty-three (43) years, and he looks it. The full head of dark hair and the boyish grin deny his age, even if Joe will not. Pardo is blind, yet he does not allow that to curtail a training program which calls for three runs daily, with a weekly total approaching one hundred (100) miles.
A veteran marathoner, Pardo was in Gresham “just to try something different.” With aides running alongside, more for moral support than guidance, Pardo competed in both the five- and ten-kilometer runs. He expressed disappointment for achievements which astounded all those who saw them.
“It’s not that difficult,” he said, as he referred to running without assistance. “On the home stretch, I could hear the people in the mew grandstand, and on the other side the birds were singing in the trees. Also, there’s a bump on the third turn. No, it’s really not tough at all.”
Tough is the unidentified gentleman, seen in the trainer’s room between events, wearing a support for his double hernia, his damaged hamstring tightly wrapped.
Tough is Roland Anspach, who, two hours before his bronze medal performance in the five-kilometer run, had collapsed after winning the 2A 1500-meter contest.
Tough are Clive Davies and Alan Waterman exhausting themselves in a side-by-side drive for the tape, even though they were entered in different age-groups.
Bill Stock of the San Diego Track Club can appreciate such tenacity. As Stock began to hurdle the first barrier of the 3000-meter steeplechase, a runner in front of him balked. Stock had nowhere to go but down. And down he went. Hard. So hard in fact it was all he could do to stagger onto the infield grass.
Bill lay there for perhaps twenty minutes while medical personnel tended him. At first a head injury was feared. Stock’s hand had been spiked, his right shoulder strained, his face cut and bruised. Two hours later, he sat in the shade of the grandstand and considered racing the 400-meter hurdles.
“My legs are fine, actually,” he said, “though the shoulder would make hurdling difficult. I’d like to try it, but I know Dorothy (his wife) wouldn’t be very happy about it if I did.”
Marital harmony and sense made another head examination unnecessary. The next day Bill Stock won a bronze medal at 5000 meters.
Any athletic contest which publishes nineteen (19) pages of results has to have many memorable events. Certainly the five-kilometer walk, in which veteran internationalist Rudy Haluza lapped the field after two-and-a-half miles, was an incredible display of excellence.
The exploits of such athletes as Ray Hatton, Dennis Meyer, Ross Smith and George Puterbaugh may soon become indistinguishable lines on a records list, but their examples will remain an inspiration.
An additional example was provided by those athletes whose homes remain unsullied by medals and trophies, by those competitors too numerous to mention, whose reputations continue unburdened by victories and records. These are the unknown competitors who fill out the field in any race and who confirm that taking part is as important as taking first.
Epilogue. When that writer said “taking part is as important as taking first,” it was assumed you’d be busting your ass trying to be as close to first as your body would permit. Never entered my mind competitive events would turn into high-priced parades where entrants are their own floats.
Hey, save the party for after the race.
I was in my twenties when I wrote this piece and I thought these geezers were simply amazing.
Now I’m in my seventies and haven’t changed my mind.