LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS
JESSE OWENS' FOUR GOLD MEDALS AT THE 1936 OLYMPIC GAMES IN NAZI BERLIN MEAN MORE THAN PERHAPS ANY OTHERS IN HISTORY. BEYOND THE SUBLIME ATHLETICISM, OWENS' PERFORMANCE WAS A POWERFUL AND ELOQUENT EXPRESSION OF DEFIANCE THAT HAS RESONATED FOR GENERATIONS SINCE. BUT WHAT HAPPENED NEXT SHONE A HARSH LIGHT ON THE WORLD BEYOND THE THIRD REICH'S ABHORRENT IDEOLOGY AND RAISED QUESTIONS THAT STILL NEED ANSWERING TODAY
IT WAS A TYPICALLY modest response from Jesse Owens as, days before the beginning of the 1936 summer Olympics, he entertained a young reporter who inquired how he’d react at the sound of the first starter pistol. Going fast was hardly in doubt: it was all the sensational track and field athlete had done since his youth, leaving onlookers bewildered whenever he graced a track meet. His astonishing speed had earned him enough accolades to guarantee a spot – in fact, three – at the 11th Olympiad in Berlin.
He was the only US team member who qualified for multiple events: the 100m, 200m and long jump (then known as the broad jump). He’d be among other notable African-American teammates, including revered sprinters Ralph Metcalfe and Frank Wykoff, but the 22-yearold ‘one-man track team from Ohio State’ would affirm what everyone expected: he would be the highlight of the Games and the world would be eagerly watching. But as a Black man headed to Nazi Germany, his appearance would come at one of the most appalling periods in history, and it would be more momentous than even the spectacle of the Games.
Like his performances at meets across the US, Owens’s first Olympic outing, on August 2, 1936, was a stunner. He effortlessly won his first 100m heat by more than six metres, equalling his own world record of 10.3 seconds. Later, in the afternoon’s quarter finals, he’d knock this down to 10.2 seconds – though officials disallowed it as a new record because of the tailwind. The next day, his semi-final heat drew him against Wykoff, who’d won gold in the 4x100 relays in 1928 and 1932. He overtook the Iowan at 80m to beat him by a tenth of a second, in 10.4.
However, gold in the final, as ever the centrepiece of the Games, was by no means guaranteed. To claim it, Owens needed to ensure his unpredictable starts – his only flaw – didn’t allow the formidable Metcalfe, his closest rival and 1932 Olympic silver medallist in the 100m, to take the prize.
To add to the tension, Owens was positioned in the inside lane, which was particularly muddy in the poor weather. However, a perfect start propelled him down the track and he won gold in 10.3 seconds, again equalling his world record. ‘This is the happiest day in my life,’ he said afterwards. ‘I guess it’s the happiest I will ever have.’
By the time he scooped medal two, for the broad jump, he was elated. He wasn’t expecting to meet Germany’s Carl Ludwig ‘Luz’ Long, the European record holder who had set a new Olympic record in the preliminary rounds. ‘I was told Hitler had kept him under wraps, evidently hoping to win the jump with him,’ Owens revealed in 1960. He later admitted that Long intimidated him, so much so that he fouled on two of his qualifying jumps. But his rival gave him some advice that would cement their friendship: if he jumped further back from behind the board, he’d avoid a foul and still meet the qualifying distance of 7.15m. The tip worked and in the final that afternoon, Owens jumped a 7.94m effort the German couldn’t match. For good measure, Owens smashed Long’s briefly held Olympic record with his third jump, a staggering 8.06m.
Owen’s third medal should have been his last. In the 200m final, he ran 20.7 seconds, annihilating the world record to match ‘Flying Finn’ Paavo Nurmi’s three golds in 1924. But Owens was on a high, and told reporters he wanted to run the relay on August 9. The original relay team comprised Marty Glickman, Foy Draper, Sam Stoller and Frank Wykoff. The coaches intended to preserve the best sprinters for the individual events, and give the other runners a chance of medals. •