My feelings for Kenny as a friend were only exceeded by my amazement that one person could be so gifted in two different venues. There was that magic he made with words and then the physical/mental package that allowed him to run faster and longer than all but two or three other people on planet Earth. – William Landers
I have been wanting to say that. What Bill Landers said. Haven’t been able to, because I too was also amazed.
As a little boy, I wanted to be an Olympic marathoner who wrote lyrically and dated Miss Hawaii. It’s true.
Believed in Kenny Moore about as much as I believe in God. You theologians know what I’m talking about.
Wasn’t a matter of faith.
“Exceeded” is a good word to use when talking of our lost comrade. He was about the smartest, fastest, best-looking nicest guy you ever met and he could write better than Hemingway.
I remember one conversation. We were talking and so I thought, hmmm, could learn something here, so I asked him, why do you put a color in every one of your opening paragraphs?
“I do?,” he asked me back.
Another time, as The World’s Slowest Professional Runner, I was depressed, feeling hopeless, so I went to Kenny in the hopes he could pull me out of my despair.
I asked him, are there any big white men with wide hips who can run fast?
He held his hands in front of him, far apart, like a fisherman bragging about his big catch.
Derek Clayton, he told me. Exactly the right thing to say in that era.
My mind is such I can remember I have a couple more anecdotes but I can’t recall what they are.
He had to stop coaching his first wife, because he couldn’t get her to grasp the idea – no, the necessity – running fast is supposed to hurt. That’s part of the fun.
Oh, here’s one. Eugene, Oregon, U.S.A. 1976 Olympic Trials. Historic Hayward Field.
We were lined up at the pay phone in the shade of the West grandstand. A queue of three. A trio of slender white men, writers all. I forget the exact order – guessing I had bulled my way to ‘Next’ – but I remember the conversation. A variation of “who’s on first?”
It was Joe Henderson, guru to the masses yet to evolve and Editor of Runner’s World. Then there was me, proud Editor & Publisher of Running, a highly respected niche quarterly. Last but not least, a Senior Writer for Sports Illustrated, one Kenny Moore.
Waiting, all of us, to report back to our respective home office with our insights and analysis.
At least Joe and Kenny were. I was probably looking for the precise location of the best after-meet party. That might’ve been when Kenny suggested I bank some good sentences ahead of time. That’s what he did.
Seems like Kenny was the one who first commented. Gist of the chat went like this.
Three magazine guys. Joe, you’re head of your operation, a monthly. Jack here is Top Dog at his periodical, which doesn’t publish until he barks out the go ahead. Which isn’t often. Then there’s me, lowly scribe for a weekly. A weekly. With a deadline of as soon as I can get to a phone.
Joe and I seemed to agree in unison. We see what you mean. Please go to the head of the line.
Where he clearly belonged.
Kenny was humble, observant and keenly intelligent. He was everything I ever aspired to be.
He was my hero.
Kenny Moore’s obituary did not appear in My Newspaper Of Record until a month after his passing. Sad it took that long.
And then I take eighteen months. Too sad to do this any sooner.
By Richard Sandomir for The New York Times. June 4, 2022
Kenny Moore, a two-time Olympic marathon runner who used his deep understanding of athletes to become a pre-eminent track writer at Sports Illustrated for nearly 25 years, died on May 4 at his home in Kailua, Hawaii. He was 78.
His brother, Bob, confirmed the death. He did not know the cause but said that Mr. Moore had physically wasted away.
Before his writing career began, Mr. Moore figured in footwear history: He is believed to have been the first test subject of running shoe prototypes designed in 1965 by Bill Bowerman, his coach at the University of Oregon, who had already founded Blue Ribbon Sports, which would become Nike, with Philip Knight.
“I had the privilege of becoming a better runner every time I put a new prototype on,” Mr. Moore told a Nike blog in 2017.
Decades later, he wrote “Bowerman and the Men of Oregon: The Story of Oregon’s Legendary Coach and Nike’s Cofounder” (2006).
Mr. Moore began working for Sports Illustrated in 1971 while he was still a competitive runner. Over the next 24 years, he wrote stylish, deeply-informed articles about sprinters, middle-distance runners, marathoners, pole-vaulters and decathletes.
“He wasn’t a writer of devices,” Peter Carry, a former executive editor of Sports Illustrated, said in a phone interview. “He was a guy with a real literary bent and a real sense of language. He was quite economical and eloquent at the same time.”
During the 1988 Summer Olympics in Seoul, South Korea, Mr. Moore described Florence Griffith Joyner’s gold medal-winning, world-record victory in the 200-meter race.
“Griffith Joyner came home with tresses flying and her left knee lifting, as it always does, an inch higher than her right, giving the suggestion of a gallop to her stride,” he wrote, adding, “She came home with a leap across the line and a yell of complex and irresistible pleasure, and then dropped to a prayer of thanksgiving, with her head touching the track.”
At those Olympics, Mr. Moore was also part of the magazine’s team report on the fallout from the Canadian sprinter Ben Johnson’s positive test for a steroid that led him to be stripped of his gold medal in the 100 meters. As part of the report, Mr. Moore learned the details of Mr. Johnson’s steroid use earlier that year on the Caribbean island of St. Kitts.
George Hirsch, a former publisher of Runner’s World magazine, which Mr. Moore wrote for after he left Sports Illustrated, said that Mr. Moore’s athletic past had enhanced his access to his subjects.
“I can remember when he interviewed someone like Bill Rodgers or Joan Benoit,” Mr. Hirsch said in a phone interview, referring to two elite marathoners, “and he would run with them and see who they were in ways that he couldn’t have done if he had not been an elite runner.”
Kenneth Clark Moore was born on Dec. 1, 1943, in Portland, Ore. His father, Melvin, was a metals salesman, and his mother, Marian (Smith) Moore, was a homemaker who also worked in women’s stores.
At the University of Oregon, Mr. Moore was a three-time all-American in cross-country. In 1965, after Mr. Moore broke a bone in his right foot, Mr. Bowerman, his coach at the time, noticed that he was wearing high-jump training shoes that had little padding or arch support.
In the six weeks that the foot needed to heal, Mr. Bowerman designed and had made a prototype that brought Mr. Moore relief; he ran pain-free in many more prototypes that further refined the shoe, leading Blue Ribbon Sports to introduce it as the Cortez.
Mr. Moore earned a bachelor’s degree in philosophy in 1966. After graduating, he qualified for the marathon at the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico; he finished 14th in a race won by Mamo Wolde of Ethiopia.
After two years in the Army and a year at Stanford Law School, he returned to the University of Oregon to earn a master’s degree in creative writing in 1972.
That year, he ran in the marathon at the Summer Olympics in Munich a few days after 11 Israeli athletes and coaches there were massacred by Palestinian terrorists.
“Until now, in my twenty-ninth year, I had believed the Olympics immune to the threats of the larger world,” he wrote in “Bowerman and the Men of Oregon.” “It was an illusion, but it had been the strongest of my life. I shook and sobbed as it was shattered.”
Mr. Moore tripped early in the race, but recovered enough to finish fourth. Frank Shorter won the event, and Mr. Wolde finished third.
“If it is run right, a marathon inflicts some damage,” Mr. Moore wrote. “I ran it right, the crowd’s approval roaring in my head, on a cushion of blood blisters.”
In 1980, while writing for Sports Illustrated, he helped the writer-director Robert Towne get permission to use the track at the University of Oregon to film part of the 1982 movie “Personal Best.” (The two had known each other for three years.) The movie, about peak athletic competition, centered on two female pentathletes (played by Mariel Hemingway and Patrice Donnelly) who have a sexual relationship.
Mr. Towne then persuaded Mr. Moore, who had no acting experience, to play the lover of Ms. Hemingway’s character after the women break up.
“But I’ve never … I’m shy, I get embarrassed,” Mr. Moore, who wrote about the experience in Sports Illustrated, recalled telling Mr. Towne. “I became a writer so I wouldn’t have to talk.”
“You’re an athlete,” Mr. Towne said. “And the character is easily embarrassed.”
In his review, Vincent Canby of The New York Times wrote that Mr. Moore was “the biggest surprise” — “relaxed, charming, low-keyed and self-assured.”
After leaving Sports Illustrated in 1995, Mr. Moore collaborated with Mr. Towne on the screenplay for “Without Limits” (1998), about the brash Oregon runner Steve Prefontaine, who held seven American distance records at his death in a car accident in 1975. He and Mr. Moore had been close friends.
In addition to his brother, Mr. Moore is survived by his wife, Connie Johnston Moore. His first marriage, to Roberta Conlan, ended in divorce.
Starting in the mid-1990s, Mr. Moore helped lead a human rights campaign to publicize the plight of Mr. Wolde, a former Army captain who was accused of killing a boy during the reign of terror in Ethiopia that followed the overthrow of Emperor Haile Selassie in 1974.
Mr. Wolde proclaimed his innocence in a case that was finally decided in 2002 when a judge convicted him of a lesser charge and sentenced him to six years in prison, then freed him because he had already served nine.
Mr. Moore recalled in a Runner’s World article in 2018 that he spoke by telephone with Mr. Wolde soon after his release.
“How’s your health?” Mr. Moore asked.
“Hey,” said Mr. Wolde, who died a few months later, “give me a couple of months to recuperate and I’ll race you anywhere you want, any distance you want!”
How Kenny Moore Changed the Running World
By Richard Sandomir for the New York Times. June 4, 2022
Whether you know the name, the way you experience the sport of running was affected by the life Kenny Moore lived.
Moore died at age 78 on May 4, leaving behind a legacy in the running world that reaches from the track to the pages of magazines and to TV screens. He helped elevate running in the American consciousness just as the sport entered a boom in popularity.
He was a standout collegiate runner, a two-time Olympic marathoner, a pre-eminent track writer at Sports Illustrated for nearly 25 years, a screenwriter and a book author.
He is also believed to have been the first test subject of running-shoe prototypes designed in 1965 by Bill Bowerman (what would eventually become Nike).
At the University of Oregon, Moore was a three-time all-American in cross-country. In 1965, after Moore broke a bone in his right foot, Bowerman, his coach at the time, noticed that Moore was wearing high-jump training shoes that had little padding or arch support.
In the six weeks that Moore’s foot needed to heal, Bowerman designed and had made a prototype that brought Moore relief; he ran pain-free in many more prototypes that refined the shoe, leading Blue Ribbon Sports to introduce it as the Cortez.
“I had the privilege of becoming a better runner every time I put a new prototype on,” Moore told a Nike blog in 2017.
After graduating, he qualified for the marathon at the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico; he finished 14th in a race won by Mamo Wolde of Ethiopia.
Between Olympic appearances, he spent two years in the Army and a year at Stanford Law School and earned a master’s degree in creative writing from the University of Oregon. Moore began working for Sports Illustrated in 1971 while he was still a competitive runner.
In 1972, he ran in the marathon at the Munich Games a few days after 11 Israeli athletes and coaches there were massacred by Palestinian terrorists.
“Until now, in my 29th year, I had believed the Olympics immune to the threats of the larger world,” he wrote in his book “Bowerman and the Men of Oregon: The Story of Oregon’s Legendary Coach and Nike’s Cofounder” (2006). “It was an illusion, but it had been the strongest of my life. I shook and sobbed as it was shattered.”
Moore tripped early in the race, but recovered enough to finish fourth. Frank Shorter of the United States won the event, and Wolde finished third.
“If it is run right, a marathon inflicts some damage,” Moore wrote. “I ran it right, the crowd’s approval roaring in my head, on a cushion of blood blisters.”
He would spend 24 years at Sports Illustrated, where he wrote stylish, deeply informed articles about sprinters, middle-distance runners, marathoners, pole-vaulters and decathletes.
“He wasn’t a writer of devices,” Peter Carry, a former executive editor of Sports Illustrated, said in a phone interview. “He was a guy with a real literary bent and a real sense of language. He was quite economical and eloquent at the same time.”
He spent his life enmeshed in the world of running. He advocated on behalf of former competitors, told the stories of professional runners in the pages of Sports Illustrated and beyond, and shared his own story in “Bowerman and the Men of Oregon.”
A Remembrance of a Teammate and Friend
By Frank Shorter
Frank Shorter was a teammate and competitor of Moore’s. A 1972 Olympic marathon gold medalist and 1976 Olympic marathon silver medalist, he wrote this remembrance of his friend.
I first met Kenny Moore at the 1969 USA Outdoor Track and Field Championships in Miami during the 10,000-meter championship race. He blew by me on the final straightaway and finished third.
We shook hands, changed out of our spikes and started jogging together to cool down. “That was a relief,” he said. As the second American to cross the line, he had qualified for the U.S. team that would tour Europe that summer. And as an enlisted member of the U.S. Army track and field team, his qualification would take him off the shortlist for transfer to Vietnam.
His decision to keep the importance of the race to himself struck me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, not having known of his placement on the shortlist.
Kenny would never have done anything like that. His integrity was obvious right from that first encounter. As life would have it, I was also put on that U.S. team, and Kenny and I were roommates. At the end of the tour, he lapped me while winning a 10,000 at a dual meet with Britain. We jogged to cool down, and he never talked about the race. Humble man. I think it was there that we began to bond.
Kenny gently persuaded me to run my first marathon at the Pan American Games trials, held in his hometown, Eugene, Ore., in May 1971. We ran together until just beyond the 22nd mile, when he sped up and left me behind. We finished first and second.
In early July 1972, we ran together in the Olympic marathon trials. Our primary objective was to help each other make the team. I don’t think we ever discussed tying. We found ourselves running side by side slightly in front of the pack, looked at each other, accelerated a bit to lengthen our lead and shared the effort to the finish line, tying for first place.
So we both got to run the 1972 Olympic Marathon in Munich. I won the gold medal, and he finished fourth.
I waited for Kenny at the finish line. Naturally, the first thing he said to me was, “How did you do?” I told him, “I won it.” We then smiled together and walked for a while arm in arm, knowing we had both given it our all.
Kenny loved to tell the tale about what happened a few minutes later. He found Steve Prefontaine, a fellow University of Oregon runner, in the stands after the marathon. Earlier that afternoon, Steve had run in the 5,000 final. Steve immediately congratulated Kenny on his fourth-place finish and began listing the reasons Kenny should be proud of his showing. During a pause, Kenny asked Steve, “How did you do?” The indignant reply from Steve: “Fourth,” along with an extra word of displeasure.
Kenny went home knowing he was in a period of transition. Fortunately, he had his writing and his willingness to evolve. Between 1972 and 1976, he eased into retirement from competition, continuing to run and write because he loved both.
His wife, Connie, came into his life as he was transitioning from track star and well-known author to the rest of his life. She was the perfect match: gentle, understated and creative as his health problems mounted. His running was slowing down, but his writing wasn’t.
Kenny was the same person I had first met on that Miami track more than 50 years ago. He never wavered in his beliefs, standards and willingness to work for what he felt was right.
My friend Kenny Moore died five days ago. He was 78 years old. Few people who come and go through this intimidating lifetime journey possess the amazing package of brilliant talents, both mental and physical, that fueled the fierce fire that burned inside the lanky graduate of North Eugene High School, in Eugene, Oregon. He had a way with words and I first saw that touch of his in a piece he wrote for the Eugene Register Guard. The young phenom, Steve Prefontaine, was scheduled to run in an AAU meet on the East Coast and the RG asked Kenny, who was in the area of the meet at the time, to cover the race. Pre came in second to a world-class runner (don’t remember his name) and Kenny wrote, “WCR crossed the finish line in (time) and turned to see the future rushing toward him.” What a terrific line.
We became friends.
Kenny was a key member of Oregon’s 1964 and 1965 NCAA’s Track & Field Championship teams. Coach Bill Bowerman admired Moore’s toughness and nothing showed that more than his participation in the steeplechase, possibly track’s most grueling, demanding races at 3,000 metres with hurdles to clear.
In 1967 Moore won the National Cross Country Championship. In his second Olympic appearance he just missed winning a medal in the marathon and it is insightful to realize that a person who possessed the magic of word manipulation was also the rare human being who has experienced running 26-plus miles while the pounding madness in his mind is demanding that he stop the pain but he wills himself to increase it even more.
And then to experience the exquisite joy of realizing that of all the billions of human beings on the planet Earth, only three could catch him if he ran away. And you have the gift to tell those other billions of people how it felt.
How fortunate I am to have called that remarkable man my friend. For a truly rewarding experience read BOWERMAN AND THE MEN OF OREGON, Kenny’s masterful biography of his college coach.
In addition to his enormous talent, Kenny Moore was a compassionate citizen of the world who listened to his better angels and made his community of friendships richer for having known him.
William Landers 2022