I did my growing up from the age of ten in a true backwater town, Bay City, Michigan. Nestled up against Saginaw Bay, which carves the thumb out of the hand that is the lower peninsula of my native state, the Saginaw Valley is a rich, black soil farming region, where my best friend from high school days, Howard Kohn, grew up on a farm that he memorialized in his classic memoir, My Father's Farm.
In the 1964 Winter Olympics, the U.S. Team won only one gold medal, and the guy who did it, against all odds, was a shy 24-year-old from Bay City named Terry McDermott. He beat the reigning two-time Gold Medal winner, a Russian skater named Evgenie Grishin, in the 500 meter sped skating event in a world record performance.
Afterwards, he came back to sleepy Bay City and resumed his work at Bunny's Barber Shop, where my Dad and I got our haircuts. I don't think I ever actually got a haircut from Terry, but I watched him as he graciously handled the many patrons who came into the barbershop to get a glimpse of history.
Sometimes, when my friends and I went to a skating rink on the outside of town, I would see him skating alone, racing around the rink with grace at a speed none of us could even dream of, let alone compete against.
Inevitably, some farm boy would challenge him to a race, and he good-naturedly accepted and then proceeded to leave the guy looking baffled in his wake.
As the 2008 Summer Olympics approach, I thought about Terry McDermott tonight. I'm quite sure he never even noticed me, a very quiet, shy boy with glasses who rarely spoke a word in public, and who, on skates, was graceful as an off-balance elephant trying to stand on a beach ball.
He must be about 68 now, and though largely forgotten by American society at large, he remains a hero of mine.
-30-
No comments:
Post a Comment