MOM: For me—and, I think, for Missy—one of the most emotional moments of that Olympic season came in July, specifically on July 20, just seven days before the start of the games. Missy was with the team at training camp in Vichy, France, when the news broke about a midnight shooting at a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, not too far from her school, Regis Jesuit. The shooting made headlines here at home and all over the world, but as the story was breaking, before there were even cameras on the scene, Missy heard about it from her friends on social media. This was that horrific shooting at the midnight premiere of The Dark Knight Rises, the new Batman movie. Missy had a lot of friends who were planning on going on opening night, so she was frantic. She called home right away. She didn’t know what to do.
We’d already gone to bed, so we hadn’t heard anything about it, but it was early morning in France, so Missy was all over it. She was sobbing when she called, and it took a while for me to figure out what she was saying. I woke up Dick and told him to turn on the television so he’d know what we were talking about and so we could both see what was going on. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing on the screen, what Missy was telling me. Oh my, it was awful. And for Missy, half a world away, it was especially devastating because she had no way of knowing if her friends were okay. Obviously, a midnight showing of a big new movie, the place was probably filled with high school kids. We had a good long cry together, and said a prayer for the victims, a prayer for her friends, and then after a while Missy had to go to a team event—a practice, or a press conference, or something. But when she hung up the phone I couldn’t stop thinking about my not-so-little girl, all the way over in France, worrying that her world had been shattered back home. I wanted to reach across those phone lines, reach across the ocean, and collect her in a great big hug, tell her everything was going to be all right. But, of course, I couldn’t, so I did what I thought was the next best thing. I called Teri McKeever, the head women’s coach. This was something I’d never done, gone behind Missy’s back to talk to one of her coaches. That’s just not our style. But here I felt so far away from Missy I wanted to do whatever I could to comfort her. It wasn’t about swimming. It was about her heart. Teri hadn’t heard about the shooting, so she was a little confused at first about why I was calling, but after I was able to explain the situation she understood right away how upsetting this was for Missy. She immediately went to Missy’s room to check on her.
There was a Team USA press conference scheduled for that morning, and we both knew Missy would be asked about the shooting, so we wanted to prepare her for that. Teri reached out to Karen Linhart, the terrific publicist for USA Swimming (and who now works as Missy’s publicist as well). Karen talked to Missy beforehand and helped her gather her thoughts, and when I watched that press conference it just broke my heart. The pain in Missy’s eyes, the concern and sadness in her voice. It’s a wonder she got through it, but she did get through it. As the details came through, and Missy’s friends checked in on Facebook and Twitter, she learned that her friends were okay, but there were twelve people dead and seventy injured. Missy announced that she was dedicating her Olympic swims to the victims and their families, and to all of her friends back home in Colorado, who had just endured a devastating series of wildfires that had displaced thousands of families across our state, and now this tragedy. It was one of those times as a mother you just want to whisk your child away and hold her close and tell her everything’s going to be okay, but she was five thousand miles away, preparing to swim the biggest meet of her life.
DAD: Just getting to London, and getting to all these events, was a whole other ordeal. You don’t have a lot of time after trials to make all the arrangements without paying through the nose, so you have to get out ahead of it. The tickets to the events were the least of our worries. The United States Olympic Committee (USOC) provides each athlete with two seats to each of his or her events, so D.A. and I were covered. Of course, those seats were all the way up in the rafters, real nosebleeders. For one of her swims, we were literally five rows from the roof. We didn’t think to bring binoculars, but we certainly could’ve used them. We’d spent all that money, traveling to London, and then we spent the whole time trying to pick our daughter out in the pool. It was kind of absurd, really. And then of course we had our family scattered all around the arena. They had to scramble for their own seats, and sometimes they had a better view than we did, but we were just so happy to be there, so happy everybody could be there.
MOM: It took a lot of planning, getting everybody to London, making all the arrangements. Of course, we didn’t even know if Missy would make the team, but we had to get on it. We couldn’t wait until a few weeks before the Olympics, after trials. There had to be a certain amount of wishful thinking. Flights and hotel rooms sold out quickly, and tickets to the events were hard to come by. And so, thinking positively, I went to work on this in September 2011, almost a full year before the Olympics. My godson and nephew Darryl, Missy’s cousin, was my partner in crime, and we were careful to keep Missy out of the loop. She didn’t want to take anything for granted about London. She didn’t want to jinx it, or lose her focus, and I respected that, of course. But I also didn’t want to be caught short, so I started researching the area, the transportation system, hotels, restaurants.
I didn’t know a whole lot about London, so there was a lot to process. I knew we had a lot of family members who would want to join us, so I looked for a big place and finally settled on a beautiful three-bedroom apartment in the Canary Wharf area, with an amazing waterfront view. Darryl and his father, Doug, Dick’s brother, just loved it, and so did Dick, so I wired a £600 deposit to the owner and let everyone in the family know. Everyone except for Missy, that is. She had no idea who was coming, or when. She had no idea about any of this, really. She would have been so upset, to learn about all these plans, which of course had to be set in motion before Missy’d even earned her spot on the team at trials. She would have thought I was jinxing her, but I wanted to be prepared. Next thing I knew, I started reading all these articles about incidents of fraud in the London rental market, specifically related to the Olympics, so I went back on the rental site to make sure we were okay, and wouldn’t you know it, “our” apartment had disappeared from the site. I scrambled to get in touch with the building manager, who informed me that the unit was not for rent, had never been for rent, and that the pictures I’d forwarded from the listing had been lifted from an old sales site.
We’d been scammed! And around the time I started putting two and two together, I read that there had been more than one hundred arrests in a widespread rental scam in and around London. I made an appointment with the Arapahoe sheriff’s office and gave them all my information, and they then notified the British police. Then I notified USA Swimming, so they could let other families know to be on the lookout. I felt so totally duped, and embarrassed, and of course we were out all that money, which in those days was about $1,000. The good news was that I was able to find a much bigger seven-bedroom home, just a mile and one tube stop from the Aquatics Centre, with room enough to accommodate our large group. And they were even flexible enough to let us stay on for another week after Missy was done with all her events and decided she wanted to stay in London for the closing ceremonies.
It turned out we were indeed a large group. There was Missy’s uncle Doug; his wife, Asako; and Doug’s two kids, Darryl and Laura; and Laura’s boyfriend, Wei. Dick’s other brother, Missy’s uncle Drew; his wife, Angela; and two of their three kids, Chelsea and Derek, would join us for a stretch. (Sean couldn’t make it—you were missed!) My sister, Cathy—Missy’s auntie C.J.—was there as well, but she was in London in an official capacity, as the doctor for the Canadian women’s soccer team, and her partner, Linda, was back home in Canada, so we were a little underrepresented on my side of the family. Aunt Deb, Uncle Harry, Kiley, and Zach were back home as well, but they would be glued to the television coverage the entir
e time. Oh, and we were also joined by our great Colorado pals Rob and Molly Cohen, who’d come to trials with us as well. In all, I’d say Missy had a pretty sizable cheering contingent, but there was quite a lot of planning and negotiating that went into it, and all of that had to be done without Missy’s knowing. She absolutely refused to talk about London until she made the team—she was adamant about it—and the only way I could respect that was to go behind her back.
(Sorry, Miss!)
DAD: D.A. really did a fabulous job, setting everything up. But my brothers and their families were on their own when it came to tickets. And then we got there, sitting way, way up in the rafters, and there were all these empty seats down below. It was one of the biggest controversies of the London games, the way all those corporate seats had been set aside and left unused. It wasn’t just at the Aquatics Centre but at all the venues. And we probably had the worst seats of anyone in the family. On the one hand, it didn’t much matter. We were just so overjoyed to be there. But on the other hand, all those empty seats down below, it was a little upsetting, a little frustrating. We’d come all this way to see Missy, we’d put so much into these moments as a family, and then to be so far removed from the action . . . sure, it was frustrating. We’d been to almost every single one of Missy’s meets to this point, and we had our little routines. Missy knew where to look for us in the stands. D.A. was in the habit of arriving early and staking out a spot a couple of rows up, so Missy would seek us out before and after her swim. Here, she had no idea where to look. Frankly, from all that distance, way, way up in the sky, we couldn’t even be sure what we were seeing down below. We had to watch the monitors that weren’t blocked out by the rafters. Believe me, we had one heck of a time craning our necks to see the live video feed on the big natatorium screen!
It was almost funny, how bad our seats were. At one point, NBC News sent up a young cameraman to film us. He lugged a forty-pound camera on his shoulders all the way up those stairs. The poor guy was sweating and out of breath. Clearly, this wasn’t the best assignment! Then he looked at his notes, and over to us in our seats, and he had this really puzzled expression. Finally, he looked at us and said, “You wouldn’t happen to be the Franklins, would you?” I was feeling a little frustrated myself, so I thought I’d have some fun with him. I said, “No.” I was completely deadpan. I was just busting his chops, and I left him hanging for a few seconds before admitting who we were. I don’t think he thought it was so funny, after carrying all that equipment all that way, but he appreciated that I’d finally come clean.
Another time, we got a call from someone in Stan Kroenke’s office. His son had seen where we were sitting on television and told his father about it, and now Mr. Kroenke wanted to invite us down to join him and his group poolside. For those of you who don’t know, Stan Kroenke is the owner of the Denver Nuggets, the Colorado Avalanche, the Colorado Rapids—just a big, big figure in the professional sports scene back home. He knew who Missy was and he didn’t think it was right, her parents sitting all the way up in the nosebleed section. I must say, I had to agree with him. There were no electronic tickets, so we had to pick up the tickets ourselves. Where? We had to go to Mr. Kroenke’s yacht, so D.A. and I took a taxi to Canary Wharf one morning, which was a little bit out of our way, but it was all so very exciting. We didn’t mind the detour, not one bit. And then, to be called in from out of the cold like that, and brought down to where the action was, we were so incredibly grateful for his kindness. And the seats were just terrific. As I recall, the royal family was seated one section over, to our right, so we were really in good company.
Unfortunately, Missy didn’t medal that night. It was the night of the 200-meter freestyle finals, and she finished in fourth place, one one-hundredth of a second off the podium. (She’ll tell you about that race in the pages ahead!) It was so frustrating, to see her miss out like that, by such a small margin, but at the same time we were so incredibly proud of her, so overjoyed to be with her, up close, in just that moment. For the first time that week we really got to feel what it was like to be in the middle of all that Olympic excitement, and even though Missy didn’t win a medal, I look back on that race as one of the most thrilling moments of the games for us as a family, because it was then that I understood what it meant to be the father of an Olympic athlete. When we were up in the rafters, in the nosebleed seats, it felt a little bit like these Olympic Games were a dream. But to be so close to the action, so close to the royal family . . . we were swept up in the moment.
MOM: Missy’s first gold medal came in the 100-meter backstroke. Her walls were not exactly her strong suit, so the 200 back was really a better race for her, because she had all that extra time over that longer distance to overcome those turns, but we were all hoping she’d do well. I wouldn’t say our expectations were high, because that was never our mind-set. We just wanted her to swim her best. Her main competition was Emily Seebohm from Australia. The two of them were always neck and neck. Emily had won prelims, with a time of 58.23 to Missy’s 59.37. In the semifinals, she came out ahead, too, with a time of 58.39 to Missy’s 59.12. After the semis, we walked by Emily’s mother as she was being interviewed by a television reporter about the finals, to be held the next night. Obviously, she was so excited, and proud of her daughter, and optimistic, and I remember thinking how poised she was, handling the reporter’s questions, when inside she must have been just bursting.
On finals night, we were up in the second-highest row in the natatorium. By this point, we’d invested in a pair of binoculars, so we could at least have an idea what Missy was up to down there on the pool deck. We arrived early and made our usual trek through security and up twenty flights of stairs to our section. There were no elevators! And, no concessions or bathrooms! So we had to make sure we had everything we needed and took care of all our business before settling into our seats. I was so excited, but also feeling a little numb, a little like I was in a dream. My fingers were tingling, and at one point I worried I was hyperventilating, or maybe even not breathing at all. A few people stopped us to chat, or to wish us well, as we made our way to our seats, and I can honestly say that I have no recollection of what they said, or what I might have said in response. Gosh, I hope I was nice!
It felt like forever before the race finally started. They paraded out all the finalists. Emily, as the top seed, was in lane four. Missy was in lane five. They both got off to strong starts. Emily popped up ahead of Missy, which was not unusual with these two. At fifty meters, Emily was ahead, 28.57 to 28.82. To the naked eye, all the way up there on the roof, it was oh so close. After the turn, we could see that Emily still had the lead. I reached out and grabbed Dick’s arm, like I was holding on for dear life. Missy started to catch up a little. All around us, Team USA family and friends were on their feet, screaming. Dick jumped up and threw his arms in the air and started shouting, “Go! Go! Go!” Meanwhile, I just stood there, silent, my hands over my mouth. I was in shock—didn’t know what to think, what to cheer, what to do. When the girls touched the wall, it was difficult to tell who had won. It was so close. Finally, the timing board lit up with the results: Missy Franklin, 58.33. Emily Seebohm, 58.68.
It took a moment for the times to register, but then when it sunk in I was absolutely overcome, overjoyed, overwhelmed. It was just too, too much to be believed. Too, too incredible. Dick and I were jumping up and down like crazy people, and there were hugs and congratulations and high fives all around. Our family was spread out over the natatorium, but we had a chance to hug and celebrate later that night. We heard from our goddaughter Kiley back in the States that her father, Missy’s uncle Harry, cried watching the race on television. It was just such a tremendous, joyful moment. Oh my, I tear up just thinking about it, writing about it. (Trust me, I’m a mess!) And then, after what seemed like the longest time, we started to make our way out of the Aquatics Centre. For some reason, the moment felt incomplete. Wonderful, but incomplete. Something w
as missing, and that something was Missy. This was really the first meet we’d been to where there was such a disconnect. She was so far away, so busy with Team USA and media commitments, it’s like we weren’t even in the same city. And I don’t think it really registered that there was this missing piece; it’s only in retrospect that I noticed it, and only after what happened next.
What happened next was this: as we were leaving the Olympic Park, after the very last medal ceremony, Mike Unger from USA Swimming called and told me to stay where we were. Someone came to collect us and ushered us through a gate—and there was Missy, running toward us! We all hugged and cried. The first thing she said to me? “Mom, I love your new top!” And right then, with that little tossed-off comment about the outfit I’d picked out, the missing piece was in place. In the middle of this swirl of unbelievable excitement, we could be a family again. The next thing she said was, “Do you want to see my gold medal?” Of course we wanted to see her gold medal! She’d stuffed it into the unzippered pocket of her warm-up jacket. I could’ve strangled her! And there it was, this beautiful, heavy, glorious gold medal. The mother in me wanted to take it and store it safely away, but this was Missy’s moment, Missy’s medal, and I held my tongue as she tucked it back into her pocket, where it could have easily fallen out. What could I have said? My daughter, the Olympic gold medalist, handling the prize of all prizes as casually as some of her friends handled their iPhones . . . What’s a mother to do, right?
Relentless Spirit Page 14