by Terry Frei
“But the Jews . . . ?”
“The Olympics have helped! With the world coming here, they stepped away from many of the Nuremberg measures. They’re realizing there’s no need to go back to them.”
They returned to the editing room, where Glenn picked up his jacket.
“You don’t have to leave yet,” Leni protested.
“Yeah, I think I should,” he said.
“You didn’t say what you thought of the film . . . at least what you saw.”
“It looked pretty good to me,” Glenn said. “The right man won.”
Leni smiled. “Thank you.”
“But I have to admit some of that—like going up and down my legs—made me feel a little weird.”
“It’s the art of film. The human body is part of art—sculpture, painting, photography, film. It is like that when I’m on the screen, too. You saw that.”
“Yeah, I did.” He paused. “But none of that stuff is important. The important stuff is that I promised I wouldn’t be a part of meeting Hitler . . . and I was. I did. And you were part of it. The life you have here—was part of it. We can’t ignore that. I can’t ignore that.”
“So what are you telling me?”
“I need to think about it. We’re supposed to find out tomorrow what plans they have for us, too. I’m still thinking I’ll be leaving Monday or Tuesday.”
“You’ll let me know, won’t you?”
“I’ll try,” Glenn said. Glenn walked off without kissing her. As Kurt pulled the car away, Glenn looked back at the Geyer Building. Leni was outside, watching, her arms folded, sobbing.
“Stop!” Glenn called out.
He jumped out of the car, walked back to Leni and held her as she cried. At first, he was glad he had returned, but then he sensed it was a mistake. She probably thought it was a sign of concession, a change of mind.
So he kissed her quickly on the forehead, pulled away again and rushed back to the car.
Walter Wood was waiting for Glenn in the room.
“They handed out the list for London,” Wood said, pointing at a sheet of paper on the desk. “Maybe half the team. We’re not on it. None of us discus guys, not you or Parker, either. Clark’s in the broad jump. They’re all leaving tomorrow.”
Glenn took a look at the list. “No surprises here,” he snapped. “It’s a stupid relay meet.”
Noticing the edge in his voice, Wood said carefully, “They said we should know what they’ve got in store for the other places tomorrow.”
Wood waited, but Glenn didn’t respond.
“So how was the movie?” Wood asked.
Glenn had told Walter he was going to see the raw footage of the decathlon at the lab and that, yes, he would see Leni. The two men hadn’t known each other long, but Glenn marveled at how little he had to tell his roommate for Wood to figure out so much.
“It had a sad ending,” Glenn said.
“So it’s over?”
“I think so.”
“Your doing or hers?”
“Her doing, my decision.”
“You going to tell me what that means?”
“Nope.”
After an awkward silence, Wood seemed relieved to be able to change the subject. “Not that this is as important . . . but the Badger press guy came by to tell you Joe Williams would be by about 10 in the morning to interview you. He heard you weren’t going to London. He said to make sure you knew it would be for the Denver paper, not the New York one.”
“I was thinking of going to the rowing tomorrow—see those guys from Washington win.”
Wood laughed. “Just talk fast,” he said.
When the light was out and they were in their beds, Glenn spoke quietly.
“Walter . . .”
“Yeah?”
“It was supposed to be so simple. You win, you celebrate, you go home, you’re all excited because everyone knows who you are, you get on with your life.”
The pause was so long, Glenn wondered if Walter had decided against saying anything. But then he broke the silence. “Glenn, no matter what happened . . . nothing says you can’t still do that. You know, a lot of guys wouldn’t understand why this is bugging you. You scr . . . you’ll be with a famous lady for a couple of weeks, and then you’ll go home. That sounds good to a lot of guys here. Some guys are as jealous of that as they are of your gold medal. You know all of that, don’t you?”
Glenn didn’t answer.
29
The Spirit of What You’re Saying
Friday, August 14
Glenn’s racing thoughts were worse than fifteen cups of coffee, so he spent much of the night between consciousness and sleep. He tried counting Walter Wood’s ordered breaths to put him to sleep, but that didn’t work, either. As early as he thought decent, with Walter still dozing, he headed to the dining hall for breakfast, not so much because he was hungry, but because he didn’t want to stay in bed and be tortured.
There, he took his food over to a corner table and sat alone. But within a couple of minutes, swimmer Al Vande Weghe, competing in the 100-meter backstroke finals that day, approached the table. All he had on his plate was fruit and one piece of toast.
“Can I rub your gold medal for good luck?” Vande Weghe asked as he sat down.
“We’d have to get it in the safe,” Glenn said with a tight grin.
After taking a couple of bites, Vande Weghe squinted at Glenn. “Man, you look beat,” remarked the swimmer. “It was supposed to get easier after you were done!”
When Glenn left the dining hall, he decided to go for a walk. Without having a sense for where he was headed, he wandered between the long lines of dormitory buildings, watching the athletes from the other nations emerge. He nodded to many of them and accepted congratulations from a few, including a pack of about five Japanese. Eventually, he came to the practice track, a reminder of how much his life had changed. He walked a full lap. A week ago, he was a would-be decathlon gold medalist; today, he was the champion, sorting through some of the complications that came with it.
That’s the first thing you have to face: If you hadn’t won, her attitude might have changed awful fast. She’d say not, might even believe it, but it’s true.
He lectured himself about why the events of the night before had been so telling. Leni always would have to be concerned about staying in Hitler’s good graces. Regardless of all else, that was the overriding reality.
She’s made a deal with the devil. Doesn’t make her a Nazi. It means you can’t ever become part of her world. It’s time to throw cold water on your face. Karen’s your real world. Even if you just told Leni we’ll play it by ear and see what happens, you’d have to tell Karen it’s over. And that wouldn’t be right. You’ve got a life back home and it’s time to start leaving this—Berlin, Leni—behind.
He checked his watch. He’d been walking for almost two hours and was late for the appointment with Joe Williams.
One of the Honorary Youth Service stewards—they all could pick out the decathlon champion now—caught Glenn as he was about to enter his building. He called out Glenn’s name, then handed him a telegram. Glenn decided to open this one right away. In it, George Whitman of the DAC said:
parade being planned in denver upon return
will be in touch about scheduling
thursday denver post says you in sweden already.
assuming that’s incorrect.
whit
Glenn shook his head in wonderment. Sweden now? Where do they get this stuff?
Williams was talking with Wood when Glenn got to the room.
“I couldn’t talk him into telling the world about a guy who finished thirteenth in the discus,” Wood told Glenn. “So you’ll have to do.”
“Hey,” Williams told Wood, “maybe in 1940!”
Wood laughed. “I fully intend to have an office in a skyscraper by then. If I got to Tokyo, I want to be one of the fat Badgers along for the ride. That’s the way to go!”
“Hey, I don’t need any more competition,” Williams protested.
Wood shook hands with Williams again and said he’d leave them alone. At the door, he turned and told Glenn, “I didn’t tell him you talk in your sleep.”
“He does?” Williams asked, thinking he was only playing along with a joke.
“To beat the band,” Wood said. He laughed. “But it’s all in French!”
The discus thrower waved and left. Glenn felt relieved.
Williams apologized that the responsibilities of covering the Games for the New York World-Telegram had prevented him from spending much time providing copy about Glenn for Denver’s morning tabloid, the Rocky Mountain News. “But we’ll take care of that now,” he said. “This will be a nice ‘follow’ piece for the folks back home in the mountains.”
Glenn resisted the temptation to point out that like the Denver Post’s pieces, the News’s stories on him in recent months were filled with hokum. And Glenn didn’t bother to point out that none of those he considered his “folks back home”—in Simla, Denver, and Fort Collins—lived in the mountains.
“When will it be in the newspaper, Mr. Williams?”
“I’m guessing tomorrow . . . Saturday morning,” Williams said. “They’re so many hours behind us, it shouldn’t be a problem for me to get it done for ’em and wire it in. I can get you a carbon if you want . . . like if you go to the closing ceremonies. You going to be around still?”
Glenn explained that as far as he knew, he would be leaving for Stockholm on Tuesday, but added there were all sorts of rumors flying about other possible exhibition meets being scheduled at the last second. “I mean, the way it seems to be going, an AOC guy could knock on the door and tell me I’m leaving for Munich or someplace in fifteen minutes.”
Williams pointed at Glenn’s desk, where two things were prominent—the potted oak and Karen’s picture. He asked what plans Glenn had for the tree.
“Not sure yet,” Glenn said. “The governor asked in his telegram if it could go to the State Capitol, but I’m thinking he’ll understand if I give it to my college or high school.”
“So you’re not putting it in your backyard?”
“Kind of hard, since I don’t have a backyard,” Glenn with a laugh.
“Are you going to get a backyard someday? With . . .”
He reached over and briefly lifted the picture.
“With this young lady, I assume?”
“At some point, yes.”
“Getting married, I take it?”
“At some point, probably.”
“And her name is?”
“Karen.”
“Let’s start there,” Williams said. “You’ve got her picture here, so it’s safe to say she’s your inspiration?”
Glenn didn’t respond right away.
She’s in the life you have back home. She’s a great girl. She’s . . .
“Morris, if you don’t want to talk about her, we can find something else for the folks back home.”
“No, it’s not that, Mr. Williams. I’m just thinking about how to say it.”
He told Williams about meeting Karen, about her help during his training, especially with his diet, and her support as he became devoted to trying to make it to Berlin in the decathlon.
As had happened in the shipboard interview with Paul Gallico, Glenn found himself slowing down or even pausing in mid-sentence in the early stages as the writer scribbled only a few words of notes for each answer. Williams noticed. “Don’t worry about me getting down every word,” he said. “We’re just talking. I’ll be able to capture the spirit of what you’re saying—better than you’re saying it. Don’t sweat it.” He laughed. “Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig never have complained. Okay?”
They talked about Karen and Harry Hughes’s roles in his life and training, about how Glenn gravitated to the decathlon and his improvement over the past year, and about the competition in Berlin. When Williams pressed him about his future, Glenn emphasized that it was less than a week since he accepted the gold medal, certainly not enough time to sort things out. He did mention that he likely would move to Denver.
Williams tried to press Glenn about his reaction to Jesse Owens all but announcing he wanted to make as much money as he could, as fast as he could, in the wake of his Olympic triumphs. Glenn responded, “Jesse’s a very smart guy, I think he’s trying to sort things out, too. That’s all. Can you blame him for that?”
“No,” said Williams. “But he’s got to be realistic about how many chances a Negro is going to have.”
The University of Washington rowers, the decathlon men’s tablemates at the send-off dinner in New York, came from behind to edge Italy in the final 500 meters to win the 2,000-meter, eight-oared event on a lake at Grünau, on the southeastern side of Berlin. Stunned that a huge crowd overflowed the abundant bleachers and jammed the side of the lake, Glenn and Wood were thrilled to have a great view near the finish line in the small athletes’ section. Glenn was even more gratified when coxswain Bob Moch spotted him after the race, thanked him for coming and said his gold medal must have brought them good luck.
At the pool, Hans Ertl noticed Leni’s angst as he went about his own stress-filled task of shooting the lead footage of the swimming competition. As Leni moved from camera position to camera position, she kept looking up at the athletes’ section, hoping to spot Glenn and concoct a way to corner him for a talk—or at least arrange for one later. Americans Adolf Kiefer and Al Vande Weghe finished 1-2 in the 100-meter backstroke, triggering flag-waving celebration among the U.S. athletes and fans in attendance, and because Leni had heard Glenn mention both of them, she was surprised he didn’t show up to watch their triumphant moments. Or he’s here and he’s hiding from me. After the medal ceremony, Ertl cornered her.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” he said. “This is your moping at the Castle magnified.”
“You’ve seen me tired before,” she said.
“No . . . this American has you all crazy.”
“Does everyone know?”
“Oh, you know how gossip travels.”
Solicitously, Ertl put a hand on her shoulder. “I should be jealous that you didn’t act like this when it ended between us.”
She thought a second. “Who said it was over with him?” she asked.
When Glenn and Wood returned to the Village, copies of the updated schedule and the several sheets listing individual assignments were posted on the bulletin board at the entrance to the dormitory building, and also slipped under their door.
The first sheet read:
UNITED STATES MEN’S TRACK AND FIELD MEETS—UPDATED
Mon, Aug 10—at Cologne (COMPLETED)
Mon, Aug 10—at Dresden (COMPLETED)
Tue, Aug 11—at Hamburg (COMPLETED)
Tue, Aug 11—at Prague, Czechoslovakia (COMPLETED)
Wed, Aug 12—at Bochum (COMPLETED)
Sat, Aug 15—at London
Mon, Aug 17—at Glasgow, Scotland
Mon, Aug 17 and Tue, Aug 18—at Helsingfors, Finland
Mon, Aug 17—at Prague, Czechoslovakia
Tue, Aug 18—at Vienna, Austria
Wed, Aug 19; Thu, Aug 20; Fri, Aug 21—at Stockholm, Sweden
Thu, Aug 20—at Joensuu, Finland
Thu, Aug 20, Fri Aug 21, and Sat Aug 22—at Oslo, Norway
Sun, Aug 23—at Karlstad, Sweden
Sun, Aug 23—at Paris, France
Mon, Aug 24—at Helsingfors, Finland
Tue, Aug 25—at Hamburg, Germany
Wed, Aug 26—at Oslo, Norway
RETURNS
Wed, Aug 19—SS President Roosevelt from Hamburg
Wed, Aug 26—SS Manhattan from Hamburg
Thu, Aug 27—SS Manhattan from Havre and Southampton
SEE INDIVIDUAL MEET ASSIGNMENTS AND DEPARTURE SCHEDULES ON FOLLOWING SHEETS
“Man, what did they do? Just t
hrow darts at a map?” Wood asked incredulously. “Look at that! We’re split up at three places on a couple of those days! Okay, I understand why the Finns might want us for those meets, so they can cheer their medal-winners from here. But do they like track that much in Oslo?”
They quickly flipped to the sheets listing their names and assignments. Glenn and Walter both were going to Prague and Vienna. That surprised him a bit, since Jesse and his troupe had passed through Prague, too, earlier in the week. Next, Glenn would head for Stockholm, Karlstad, Helsingfors, and Oslo; and then catch up with the SS Manhattan at Southampton. After the meets at Prague and Vienna, Wood was down to compete at Paris and then meet the ship at Havre. “You—and those Scandinavian women—are just going to have to do without me,” he joked, but with underlying tone of regret that the roommates and new friends soon would be separated.
By far the biggest U.S. roster for a single meet would be at the relays event in London. Some of that group would be through after that meet and be on the Roosevelt; some would move on to Scandinavia; still others would return to the European mainland. The assignments seemed as chaotic as the scheduling. But the most important detail was that Glenn was down to leave Berlin Sunday.
30
On Tour
Saturday, August 15–Tuesday, August 18
On Saturday morning, Glenn debated whether writing a letter to Leni was a good idea, since it would have to pass through other hands to reach her. Deciding that was ridiculous at this point, he sat down, grabbed the stationery and wrote the longest letter of his life. He explained he was leaving for Prague and Vienna on Sunday, traveling on to Scandinavia from there, and then heading home. He said he wasn’t saying good-bye, though, because as unlikely as it might seem, maybe they would see each other again—if she visited America or if he came to Germany again. He tried to make it clear he wasn’t angry, just realistic. He accepted that she had very difficult choices to make, choices of the sort he couldn’t even grasp. And as wonderful as it had been, he knew that because they would so drastically complicate each other’s lives, continuing this was impossible. She understood that now, too, he assumed. He thanked her, said he never would forget his time in Berlin, and his time with her, and he knew he always would love her. He stuffed the sheets into the envelope, addressed it to Leni at the Castle Ruhwald, found the Honorary Youth Service steward and handed it to him to get the delivery in motion.