THIRTY-SEVEN

The decathlon … Day one …

As was to be expected with the onset of rain, Thorpe got off to a bad start. In the first event, the 100-meter dash, he was nosed out by one of his own teammates, E. L. R. Mercer, a specialist at the sprint. This was not unexpected.

In the next event, the running broad jump, the rain really began to cause problems. The takeoff board was slippery, and many of the contestants were scored with faults. Thorpe was faulted twice, and on the third try jumped a qualifying distance of 22 feet, 2.3 inches. It was not good enough. Lomberg, of Sweden, bested Jim’s jump by 4.4 inches.

Thorpe was discouraged. He was not accustomed to losing. If he could not do better in the shot put, he might as well forget the decathlon. He was wet and miserable, and it was hard to see any fun in competing in the continuing drizzle.

“Come on, Jim,” suggested John. “Let’s get you into some dry warmups before the shot put.”

By the time the clerk called, “All out for the shot put,” Thorpe’s attitude had improved. Still, he knew that he must do well in this event. He put the 16-pound shot 42 feet, 5 and inches, scoring first place and beating Wieslander’s toss by 2½ feet.

He was exuberant in the locker room. Pop Warner, soaking wet but happy, laughed at Thorpe’s explanation.

“Maybe it was the dry uniform that helped me win.”

Maybe it was.

 

Day two …

High jump, another first with a jump of 6 feet, 1.6 inches. The clear and balmy weather undoubtedly helped.

The 400-meter run saw Mercer, the sprint specialist, winning over Thorpe with a time of 43.3 seconds, compared to Thorpe’s 45.3.

In the next event, however, the 110-meter hurdles was a specialty of Thorpe’s, if he could be said to have one. His time in the Olympiad, 15.6 seconds, established a record that would stand for thirty-six years, when it was to fall by a mere tenth of a second.

The crowd was beginning to recognize and to cheer Thorpe.

Decathlon events are scored against a standard, with a maximum 1,000 points per event, a possible total of 10,000 points. An athlete breaking or equaling the standing record receives 1,000, with points deducted for lesser scores. At the finish of the second day, even with performances that disappointed Thorpe, he had totaled 5,302.87 points. Mercer, the sprinter, with spectacular wins, had accumulated 4,752.20. Lomberg of Sweden ranked third, with 4,664.39.

 

Day three …

The first three of the four competitions would be field events: discus, pole vault, and javelin. These were specialties of the great Wieslander, and events which Thorpe did not consider his best. Despite this, he managed to score one second place and two thirds, coming in closely enough to the leaders to accumulate more total points.

The last event of the games, just before the award ceremonies, would be the 1500-meter race. His performance in the same event in the pentathlon had been so spectacular that the crowd had picked him as their favorite. It had been a grueling week, and it was anticipated that he would likely be slowing from exhaustion. Instead, Thorpe bettered his own time in the previous 1500-meter run, by more than four seconds: 4 minutes, 40.1 seconds.

Thorpe’s final point score in the decathlon was 8,412.955 out of 10,000, 688 points ahead of the runner-up, Sweden’s Wieslander, with 7,724.495. Five other athletes were bunched in the 7,000 range, including Americans Donahue and Mercer.

 

These were the last events of the Olympiad, and the presentation of honors that afternoon was carried out by King Gustav. The New York Times reported:

When James Thorpe, the Carlisle Indian and finest all-around athlete in the world, appeared to claim the prizes for winning the pentathlon, there was a great burst of cheers, led by the King. The immense crowd cheered itself hoarse.

King Gustav regained his dignity and presented the laurel wreath and gold medal. He also presented a life-size bronze bust of himself to Jim Thorpe.

Later, the ceremony was repeated for the decathlon: the wreath and medal, as well as a silver chalice studded with jewels, in the shape of a Viking ship, a gift from the Czar of Russia.

The King himself appeared nearly overcome with emotion. Breaking tradition, he extended a handshake.

“Sir, you are the greatest athlete in the world!” he pronounced.

Jim Thorpe’s response, equally emotional but humble and barely audible, was typical:

“Thanks, King.”

He was to state later that it was the proudest moment of his life.

Americans had dominated the 1912 Olympiad. As an extra honor for the Indians of Carlisle, Louis Tewanima won the silver medal in the 10,000-meter marathon.

 

The Americans decided to take advantage of the publicity that had been generated by Thorpe’s spectacular showing.

“John,” said Pop Warner, “I’ve booked a couple of exhibition meets for Jim. You want to stay over with us, or go back on the Finland?”

“Hadn’t thought about it, sir. What’s Tewanima going to do?”

“Louis will stay with us. He’ll compete in the exhibitions, too. He’s really enjoying all this, I think.”

“Aren’t we all, Pop?”

They chuckled together.

“Yes,” John went on. “It’s hard to let go of the excitement. I’ll stay with you. How long?”

“Couple of weeks … I’m working on the schedule. Everybody in Europe wants to see Jim run, I guess.”

 

Thorpe was unable to accept all the invitations: to compete, to meet dignitaries, even to dinner. There were simply too many. The party from Carlisle was entertained like royalty. They saw some beautiful country, tasted fine wine and unfamiliar foods with exotic flavors, met dignitaries and, in general, had an all-around good time.

It was pleasant to bask in the reflected honor that was bestowed on Jim Thorpe. It was not unlike traveling with the 101 Wild West Show, and seeing the awe in the eyes of children as they gazed at the colorful performers, the animals, and the assorted equipment. Only this time it was more personal, and it was even better. He wished that Hebbie could be here to share these experiences with him. That was the fly in the ointment, the slight twinge of guilt that he felt as he saw and experienced Europe at its best.

 

Even to an experienced traveler like John, who had traveled the show circuit, transportation in Europe was an amazing phenomenon. He was quite familiar with trains, their major mode of travel with the 101. The ranch owned its own rolling stock and many miles of track.

In the past few years, too, there had been a proliferation of automobiles, powered by a variety of energy sources: steam, coal oil or gasoline in the new internal-combustion engines; even electricity. That was an amazing thing to John: a battery of glass jars filled with acid, which occupied the covered rear deck of the automobile, much like the baggage boot of a stagecoach. These were connected by wires or cables to each other and to the engine, an electric motor which produced the rotation of the rear wheels. One major advantage of this electric carriage was its complete silence, compared to the noisy clatter, smell, and smoke of the steam and gasoline autos. They often frightened women and children, and caused stampedes by runaway horses. John had seen towns where automobiles were forbidden by city ordinance. In the major cities, of course, they were becoming more and more commonplace. Their stop in New York before boarding the ship for Stockholm had shown that. There was a noticeable increase in the number of automobiles in just the two years since Bill Pickett had counted their numbers on the 101 “gang’s” excursion to Coney Island.

Aeroplanes, too … John had seen several in the past two years. The Wright brothers had opened a virtual Pandora’s box with their flights only a few years ago. There had even been a flier, a friend of the Millers, who had landed at the 101 Ranch last year.

John doubted that the flimsy-looking things, made of sticks and piano wire and covered with canvas, would ever be practical. Interesting, though.

Here in Europe, there was a greater density of population. Not only more people, but more trains, automobiles, and aeroplanes. Everybody seemed to be going somewhere.

However, John was completely unprepared for the sight that occurred one afternoon while they were attending one of the exhibition contests. He realized that people around him were looking up at the sky, and beginning to chatter in their own tongue. Just as he was about to look up, Tewanima grabbed his arm and pointed, talking rapidly in Hopi.

There in the sky overhead was a huge silver cigar-shaped craft. It was hard to judge its size, but John estimated that it must be as long as a football field. There seemed to be engine noise from it, though it was hard to tell over the noise of the crowd at the track meet. A compartment with windows much like a Pullman car hung below it, and he thought he could see people looking out the windows.

“What the hell is that?” John exclaimed in wonder.

“An airship of some kind?” suggested Pop Warner.

“You’ve seen them before?” John asked.

“No … read about ’em. Let’s ask Sven, here.”

They turned to the young man who had been assigned as their interpreter.

“Airship? Yes … ‘Zeppelin.’ There is regular service in Germany. Some flights to here, sometimes to Paris.”

“What means ‘Zeppelin’?” John asked.

“A man’s name. He made it. How do you say … ?” pondered the interpreter.

“Invented it?”

“Yes. That is it. Invented.”

The great silver ship sailed smoothly overhead and on into the distance, and John had a strange feeling that the world he knew would soon be obsolete.

Only now did he understand fully the urgency that the Millers felt to preserve their heritage, that of the American West. In this rush to modernization, everything familiar was slipping away, and quite rapidly.