The first link in this particular chain of history was the 1936 Berlin Olympics, the subject of a short film that made its Atlanta debut last week at Morehouse College.
One must start somewhere and for Herb Douglas, that beginning point was the Hitler Olympics and the collection of African-American track and field athletes who spoiled the Fuhrer’s dream of Aryans on parade.
A teenager growing up in an America that was itself riven by segregation, Douglas, an Olympic bronze medal winner in the long jump in 1948, learned first-hand from those Berlin Games.
“After that, we knew (African-American athletes) could compete against anyone in the world,” he said. “Before we just didn’t know, because we didn’t compete against the total marketplace. It was an eye-opener.”
The long jump, that was one of Jesse Owens’ events, right? Yes, he won gold in that in ’36, along with gold in the 100-, 200- and 4-x-100-meter relay. All these years later, though, Douglas wanted people to remember that it was more than just the legendary Owens who took to that platform and, by their performances, argued loudly for the power of inclusion.
So, Douglas, a Pittsburgh guy, 93, a long-retired corporate officer, co-produced a film, “The Renaissance Period of the African-American in Sports.” He intended it to serve as a tribute to not only Owens but also the eight other black track athletes who medaled in those games. His plan is to take it on tour of high schools and colleges around the country as a mobile history lesson.
That’s right, Owens had plenty of company and that number included some most accomplished men. Like Ralph Metcalfe (gold in the 4-x-100 relay, silver, 100 meters), who became an educator and long-time U.S. congressman. And John Woodruff (gold, 800 meters), who retired from the Army as a lieutenant colonel. And Mack Robinson (silver, 200 meters), the inspirational older brother of a more famous trailblazer, Jackie Robinson.
“That there was a phalanx of athletes other than Jessie Owens who went to the top universities in the world at a time when they probably weren’t welcome,” said Edwin Moses, the Morehouse man who owned the 400-meter hurdles throughout the late 1970s and bulk of the ‘80s. “They all became successful people, but have been kind of forgotten, lost in the whole history of the ’36 Olympics.”
Last week the film played to a select audience at Morehouse, followed by a panel discussion among four one-time Olympians. Through this well-chosen collection, it was possible to visualize the chain that began in 1936, each succeeding generation accomplishing change in its own way.
There was Harrison Dillard, who remembered as a boy back rushing home after seeing Owens up close during a parade through the streets of Cleveland. “I about tore the screen door off the hinges,” he said. “I decided I wanted to be like Jesse Owens.”
In 1948, he took gold in the 100 meters, just like Owens. Unlike Owens, Dillard won gold in the 110 hurdles four years later.
There was John Carlos, who became far more famous for his pose on the medal podium in 1968 than for the event that placed him there (bronze, 200 meters). He and gold medalist Tommie Smith bowed their heads and raised their black-gloved fists during the playing of the national anthem, a gesture against inequalities back home.
Morehouse President John Wilson told of hanging a poster of the two sprinters’ protest salute on his office wall for the entire 16 years he was at MIT.
There was Bob Beamon, whose gold-medal long jump in those same Mexico City Olympics was a jaw-dropping 22 inches farther than the existing world record. He did not carry away the image of militancy from those games, but he was no less a product of his time. He and several other track and field athletes had once lost their scholarships at Texas-El Paso after refusing to compete against Brigham Young, citing perceived LDS racist policies at that time.
And then there was Moses, thanking his predecessors for all they had done and representing his own brand of service. Like chairing the Laureus World Sports Academy, which seeks “to promote and increase participation in sport at every level, and also to promote the use of sport as a tool for social change around the world.”
One obvious question had to be asked of such a panel: Where does the chain of difference-makers lead from here? The night began with stories of the 1936 Olympics and the change wrought there. Is this generation of athletes a worthy heir to that of nearly 80 years ago?
On that score, there was some concern.
“Today, we see some of the richest athletes who have never stood for anything and they never will,” Moses said.
Added Carlos, the fire of the ‘60s still burning: “Many of these athletes out there today they think their name is ‘Contract.’ They think their middle name is ‘Dollars.’ They don’t have a clue as to who they are. They are caught up in this façade of being this superstar. They have forgotten where they came from.”
There is yet one more film, and no shortage of voices from the past, to remind them.
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