Lovelock was moving like a leaf in the wind

Press, Volume CVIII, Issue 31802, 5 October 1968, Page 11

Lovelock was moving like a leaf in the wind

This is the fifth and final article by NORMAN HARRIS on great Olympic battles.

“WHO shall choose be- ” tween these three? Not I. Let them choose for themselves.” So said one of the despatches from Berlin on the day before the great race of the 1936 Olympic Games, the 1500 metres. Everyone knew it was going to be a great race, nothing was more sure. The Golden Era of mile running was going to decide its champion, and the choice had to lie between three men, each of whom was good enough to win and break the world record. In fact, they were all champions or record-holders —and they were now at the height of their careers. Glenn Cunningham of the U.S.A. was the existing world record-holder for the mile with 4min. 6.Bsec. He had the reputation of being a powerful, accurate pacesetter, and a good finisher. Big-chested, his legs scarred from a childhood accident, the man had a particularly resolute look about him. His obvious will to win, and a warm-up routine which often kept other competitors waiting, did not make him universally popular; he didn’t seem to care.

Luigi Becalli of Italy was the reigning Olympic champion, taking the title in Los Angeles by coming from behind with a tearaway finish. Later, he had equalled the world record for 1500 metres, and then beaten it This, in turn, had just been clipped by Bill Bonthron of the U.S.A. down to 3min 48.8 sec, but Bonthron had since retired. Becalli was a very neat runner, with a quick springy stride—the exact opposite of Cunningham’s—and a great finisher. He was also a great enthusiast and very popular. John Edward Lovelock, a New Zealander who lived and worked in England as a doctor, had held the mile

record before Cunningham with a time of 4min 7.6 sec. He had run fewer fast times than the other two, but he was more selective in his racing. He ran to Win and not to break records.

His stride was lighter even than Becalli's, his running style and general appearance altogether more delicate and finely attuned than anything else in athletics.

The only previous meeting of the three had been in the Los Angeles Olympics. In the intervening four years the score between Cunningham and Becalli was 1-0, between Cunningham and Lovelock 0-2, between

Becalli and Lovelock 1-0; in other words, none of them had been able to beat each of the other two in this time. The presence of Cunningham seemed bound to ensure a fast pace, probably world-record pace. Becalli had shown himself capable of running hard right through a race, and be had proven himself to be the fastest finisher. Proven himself, that is, through reliability. Of Lovelock, no-one could be quite sure. At his best, properly tuned, his finishing speed might be quicker than anyone’s. On the other hand, Iron-Man Cunningham might have won the race before it came to the finish. No wonder, then, that the opening question was asked and left unanswered.

The next afternoon the great stone stadium was packed to its very limits with a crowd of almost

120,000. The huge bowl trembled with the singing of “Über Alles” as Stoeck won the javelin for the Fatherland. “Deutschland, Deutschland, über alles, über alles in der welt" Germany Over All. Everyone was waiting for the 1500 metres field to go to the mark. Everyone was waiting for the Fuhrer to arrive in the Royal Box. The atmosphere was electric, the very air seemed brittle, as if one sudden shout from the crowd would crack and splinter it Then came a roar, and a hundred thousand people rose as one. “Hell . . . Heil . . . Heil.” Hitler had' made his entrance. The 12 runners went forward to the line, at the top of the back straight And now, quite suddenly, a vast silence, more unnerving even than the huge roar, descended on them as they waited for the gun. At the Instant of the explosion, time no longer stood still. The stopwatches leapt into life, the 12 men unwound like sprinters, the crowd roared. The first man to hit the front was Jerry Comes of Britain, and Becalli followed; Lovelock ran beside Cunningham half-way down the field. The pace was solid, perfect for a first lap, which they completed in exactly 30sec. They went through the full 400 metres in 61jsec. A German surged from mid-field, and a chant gathered force around the stadium and then fell as Cunningham ploughed through, past Becalli and Comes, and into the lead. Lovelock went with him and settled into second place; Becalli followed Lovelock. The three were now in line. There was no chink among them, as Cunningham led,

his stride deliberate and powerful. The German Schaumberg came up on the outside, and the crowd thundered again —but after running there for half a lap, unable to gain admittance among the three, he fell back. Then Ny of Sweden came up to take his place—and all the time Cunningham stayed rock-like in the lead, his stride still deliberate and forboding, like the low beating of a drum; and all the time Lovelock was gliding behind him, and Becalli stepping crisply behind Lovelock, as if a chain bound the three as one. The pace was gradually becoming faster, yet none of the three showed any hint of strain. Ny was at their side like an intruder; sometimes be brushed against Lovelock. The hum from the crowd rose in the giant stone bowl, the staccato chant broke in again, and then fell, and then there was the hum again, waiting to be unleashed. Ny bumped Cunningham, the others were bunching up behind. Now Ny moved past Cunningham into the lead, as they came up to the bell. Lovelock slipped out, to Cunningham’s shoulder, and Becalli closed up. The bell sounded, almost drowned out by the crowd. Two-thirds around the top bend it happened. Lovelock surged forward to Ny’s shoulder. Cunningham followed instantly. Lovelock paused. Cunningham moved back to the pole-line behind Ny’s heels . . . then Lovelock “went” as if his feet were a round ball with topspin. He was into the long backstraight before Cunningham got around Ny and started the pursuit, with Becalli chasing after. They had a gap of three yards to close.

Lovelock was moving like a leaf in the wind, but the chase was furious. Cunningham’s stride was devouring the ground, Becalli was running like a quarter-miler. Every inch of that three yards was bitterly contested, as Lovelock tried to lengthen it They swept into the bend, Lovelock running with balance, grace and speed, yet looking so frail against Cunningham’s thunderous charge. Still the margin was three yards. The corner ended, the straight opened. The shrieking of the crowd shook the stadium; it was the sound of a gale in a mountain pass. Lovelock still had a three yards lead as he straightened for home. And now his body tightened as he sought still more speed, and found it His hands were scissoring in front of him, driving his flying feet Still faster he went, and further ahead. He looked back, saw he was clear, and glided the last 20 yards to the tape. Up in the Royal Box, Hitler eased back into his seat Lovelock, as if switching off the engine and throwing the gearbox into neutral, drifted on around the top bend to pick up his tracksuit, and the applause followed him all the way. The timekeepers’ watches showed 3min 47.8 sec, a new world record by a whole second. Cunningham, five yards back, and Becalli just behind him, were also under the old record. Never had they run as well for victory as in this defeat Never had a victory been more worthily and more brilliantly won. Of all the jewels in the Olympic Crown, this race, this victory, glows and glitters like no other.