The Long Journey Home

by Don Coldsmith

  The last event of the pentathlon was the 1500-meter race. It was deliberately chosen to demonstrate versatility. It may not be the same athlete who lifts the weights and throws the hammer who can stand the pounding run at distances such as this. John realized that this mix was much like comparing the skills of a racehorse to the pulling power of a heavy draft horse. A horse which could do both jobs would be rare indeed. But here, it would be expected from human athletes: throwing, sprinting, and, in addition, the prolonged stamina of a distance run. He gave silent thanks for the manner in which the runners had trained at Carlisle. Let somebody else set the pace. Maybe, running behind the leaders, then passing as the leader tires …

  The 1500-meter run would consist of four laps around the cinder track. Thorpe’s position was next to the outside lane, a poor position when it came to a challenge. As the gun sounded, he seemed to slip on the blocks, and was well back in the pack as Brundage and Bie charged into the lead. The pace was fast on the first lap, which pleased John. It pleased him, too, that Jim did not seem to be concerned, but settled in behind the leaders, following the strategy they had practiced. He made his move during the second lap … . Not too early, Jim … . Brundage had fallen back and Bie, the Canadian, was alone in the lead. During the third lap, Thorpe drew even. At the start of the fourth circuit it appeared that Jim Thorpe had just begun to see this as a contest. He now began to really pour on the effort, drawing well ahead of the pack.

  They crossed the finish line with Thorpe several strides ahead of the nearest competitors. Two American teammates finished second and third, and a totally exhausted Bie was forced to settle for sixth place. The crowd went wild!

  Now for the accounting … . In the pentathlon, one point was awarded for a win, two for second place, three for third, a low score being the goal. Jim Thorpe, with a score of 7, had the advantage of 15 points over the nearest competitor, Ferdinand Bie, the Canadian, at 21. Other scores were 29, 29, 30, 31, and 32.

  The Scandinavians had been expected to sweep the event, but it had been dominated by Americans and Canadians. James E. Sullivan, America’s commissioner to the Olympics, commented that this “ … answers the allegation that most of our runners are of foreign parentage, for Thorpe is a real American, if there ever was one.”

  His record was to stand, for generations yet unborn.

  But now it was time to prepare for the grueling three-day decathlon, to begin the following Saturday.

  This time there would be ten events:

  First day:

  100-yard dash

  Running broad jump

  Shot put

  Second day:

  Running high jump

  400-meter run

  110-meter hurdles

  Third day:

  Discus

  Pole vault

  Javelin

  1500-meter race

  Saturday dawned dark, gloomy, and overcast. Attendance had fallen off because of the threat of rain. It was necessary that the athletes compete rain or shine, because of the tightly scheduled Olympiad. Other events must be followed on schedule.

  John was greatly concerned about the effect of the weather on Jim Thorpe, with the Indian athlete’s natural aversion to contests in the rain: “No fun …”

  Possibly even greater was the effect of the situation on Pop Warner, who muttered and paced and worried.

  With justified concern, as it turned out. Shortly before the start of the games, the heavens opened and it began to pour.

  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.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The noon Cumberland Valley train drew to a stop at Carlisle, Pennsylvania, on Friday, August 16, 1912, brakes squealing and her venting steam chest hissing. A cheering crowd of 15,000 greeted the travelers as they stepped down to the platform. There were students and townspeople and dignitaries, and banners proclaiming “Hail to Chief Thorpe,” “A Carlisle Indian,” and other slogans. The band was playing.

  There were speeches of congratulation, led by Superintendent Friedman of the Carlisle Indian School.

  “This is an occasion for congratulation. It is a national occasion. The things we celebrate here and the heroes we welcome to Carlisle concern the whole country … . We have here real Americans, known as Indians, but whose forefathers were on the reception committee which welcomed to this soil the famed first settlers who arrived on the Mayflower.

  “We welcome you, James Thorpe, to this town and back to your school. You have covered yourself with glory … .”

  The speeches went on for some time, and the excitement lingered even longer. It was a good day.

  “But, John, I don’t see why you couldn’t stay. Admittedly, it’s not a high-pay coaching job, which you’d certainly be qualified for. But, it could lead to something better. Give it time, son. We’re about to start football season. Thorpe has another year of eligibility. So does Tewanima. You work well with both.”

  “I’m honored, sir,” John told Pop Warner, “but … Well, I made a commitment.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Oklahoma … the Hundred and One.”

  “More cowboyin’? … Wait! There must be a girl … . Ah! Of course! That would be it,” laughed the coach. “Well, you can always tell a man in love, I’ve heard, but you can’t tell him much.”

  John was blushing scarlet, even though he knew that Warner was sympathetic to his plight. But he had made up his mind.

  “Thanks, Coach,” he said, “but I really do need to get back there. Hope you have a good football season.”

  Carlisle did have a good football season, though not a perfect one. In fourteen games, their record for the 1912 season was 12-1-1. They scored a total of 504 points to 114 by their opponents.

  Kyle Chrichton, who witnessed the Lehigh game, where Lehigh was heavily favored, later wrote his impressions:

  The Indians were the first team I ever saw that disdained dressing-room rites between halves … . They simply wandered off to a side of the field when the half ended and had a hilarious time among themselves until the whistle blew. Anybody who thinks the Indians are a solemn race is nuts. Do you know how they called signals in that game? They’d line up and then Old Jim would yell “How ab
out through left tackle this time?” and off they’d go, right through that spot. Next time Jim would yell “Right end, huh?” and away they’d go again. After the first few times, Lehigh realized they weren’t kidding and rushed all their defenses to the spot, but it never did any good. They’d pick up three or four or five yards at a clip, and then Jim would break off for a real good gain. And if they got stopped with that monkey business, they’d run sequence plays, three or four quick plays, without a signal. There’d be a wide sweep to the left, line up quick, bang; to the left again. Before Lehigh woke up, the Indians had another 30 yards and were chuckling among themselves.

  West Point was probably the toughest foe the Indians met that season. Gus Welch, the quarterback, recalled:

  Pop Warner had no trouble getting the boys up for the game. He reminded the boys that it was the fathers and grandfathers of these Army players who fought the Indians. That was enough.

  One of the Army athletes, who played right halfback, commented years later:

  Except for [Thorpe], Carlisle would have been an easy team to beat. On the football field, there was no one like him in the world. Against us, he dominated all of the actions.

  The halfback’s name was Dwight Eisenhower.

  When John stepped off the train at Bliss, Oklahoma, Hebbie was there to meet him. With a mixture of laughter and tears, she flew into his arms … .