The Gazette

JACK CLOWSER'S TRIBUTE TO JESSE OWENS!

COVERS JESS' CAREER THOROUGHLY FROM START TO FINISH

"Greeting And Farewell The Starter's Gun Barks, But The Boy Who Rewrote The Record Is Gone".

Human bodies are tensed for the starter's gun again. Sand and sawdust are being tossed into the jumping pits. Don Lash and George Vanoff are cracking more records. The Rideout boys lead the list of unknowns who have catapulted to the big time. The east's big indoor arenas are thundering their welcome to the 1937 track and field season. But for me the knowledge brings only unforgettable scenes in retrospect. The world's greatest athlete no longer gathers his supple form for that gazelle-like spring. His poetry of motion no longer dusts the runways as he scatters man's best marks to the winds. Jesse Owens' career is ended.

Pages of the record book are turning. They leave indelible 10 world's records, either held or shared by the boy who started running on the sidewalks of E. 107th street and finished before the tumult of 110,000 at Berlin. But it isn't the records nor the manner of making them . those matters don't lend themselves to a mantle of sentiment that sometimes gathers with a quiet review of things gone by.

Rather, it has been a long association with a sterling sportsman, a modest victor, a lad whose demeanor was universally praised as a credit to his race and country. Those are the things you can't forget. For me, something is gone that won't be replaced. The last of thousands of words about the feats of genial Jesse Owens have slipped off my typewriter onto the telegraph wires at a score of victory fields. You could feel the warm friendliness of his nature in the clasp of his hand as a schoolboy. Eddie Tolan knew it that July day at Chicago in 1932 . . . the 17-year-old Owens had drawn a middle lane in the Olympic trials, while Tolan, handicapped by a pulled muscle, had been assigned the pole lane, heavy from recent rain and churned loose by the spikes of 5,000-meter walkers in the previous event.

So Tolan, who was destined to go on to double victory for the United States at the Los Angeles Olympics, took advantage of Jesse's offer to switch lanes. . . . "I haven't much chance anyway, Mr. Tolan; will you change with me?" . . Tolan qualified and Owens didn't.

Lutz Long knew it four years and a month later . . . the ace broad jumper of Germany was furnishing Jesse's stiffest competition in the Olympic broad jump finals . . knowing the advantage of a rubdown for the sore muscles that bothered Long, Owens massaged his rival's legs the stadium trembled with applause. Eulace Peacock knew it that evening last March when the Temple speedster and Owens matched strides at Cleveland's public hall. . . . Jesse was making his first appearance before a home town crowd since his record-shattering exploits of the previous season. . . . He had been ineligible and wasn't in the best of condition but he wanted to win that one. The gun found Peacock left at the marks . . but Owens didn't seek that kind of victory. . . . He pleaded for a re-run and Peacock beat him by inches the second time . sometimes a man is greater in defeat than in triumph.

I'll never forget that day at Ann Arbor when Jesse made athletic history by smashing three world's records and tying another within two hours. Outside the dressing room doors surged the jam of autograph seekers . . .inside, old Charley Riley, the boy's first coach, his eyes swimming with emotion as he bent over the rippling muscles on the rubbing table . . . Jesse, trembling with nervous exhaustion and happiness . . . for the two it was a dream come true . . their day of days. I'll not readily forget that 1933 day at Soldiers Field when, as a high school boy, Jesse whipped through the tape in 9.4 seconds . . . the long huddle of the official timekeepers . . . the announcement after long delay that he had tied the world's record for the hundred. . . the remeasuring of the track afterward by the incredulous officials . . . while the police stormed their way to the lads rescue as thousands of admirers swarmed down on the field to block his path to the showers.

I'll not readily forget that day at Columbus last spring when the cream of the Big Ten was in competition some thought Jesse was a front runner and would curl up if he had a deficit to face. They knew after his final event that he hit the second and third hurdles and found himself 12 yards behind . . . his face lined deep by terrific effort, he ate that ground as the throng rose to its feet made it up as they topped the last barrier and kicked cinders at them as they lunged for the finish line. . . it wasn't a record but it will do for the greatest Owens' race, in more ways than one. It will be a long time before I forget the final American Olympic team trials at New York's Randall Island stadium last summer . , . what a task we had to smuggle Jesse safely back to his hotel . . . the crowd had mobbed him, taking his running shoes and sweat-pants for souvenirs. . . . Larry Snyder, his coach, finally hit upon a ruse that worked.

Larry scooted off in his own auto, four colored lads running to the machine at the last moment, as the crowd, pencils and programs outstretched for the coveted signature, chased behind . . . so we sneaked Jesse out and down the river bank to another car, and the New York cops who knew the ruse were the only ones to get autographs from the tired athlete. And then, after his glorious triumphs at Berlin had flung his fame to far places, there was' that day of homecoming back in New York once more to record the praise of a city, state and nation . . . arising before daybreak to board a government cutter for the trip down the bay. The giant hulk of the Queen Mary, bulging from the morning mists .. . the welcoming committee, newsmen, cameramen, newsreel photographers piling over the narrow gangplank into the huge liner as she steamed at slow speed from quarantine.

Jesse flying down the stairs three at a time, into the arms of his mother and wife . . the blinding barrage of flashbulbs . . . his first words to the reporters . . . and then I was relieved . . . still the same unspoiled chap . . . those headlines in all corners of the globe hadn't changed him. And nothing they could do about Jesse Owens would change him . . . the days of struggling for a few dollars are over . . . he can live in comfort now . . . but he still wouldn't turn down a little boy who got close enough to make known his plea for an autograph. I guess that's why this track season will seem a bit empty for me.-The Cleveland News.