JIM THORPE

Steve Gelman

The railroad station was jammed. Students from Lafayette College were crowding onto the train platform eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Carlisle Indian School's track and field squad. No one would have believed it a few months earlier. A school that nobody had heard of was suddenly beating big, famous colleges in track meets. Surely these Carlisle athletes would come charging off the train, one after another, like a Marine battalion.

The train finally arrived and two young men—one big and broad, the other small and slight—stepped onto the platform.

"Where's the track team?" a Lafayette student asked.

"This is the team," replied the big fellow.

"Just the two of you?"

"Nope, just me," said the big fellow. "This little guy is the manager."

The Lafayette students shook their heads in wonder. Somebody must be playing a joke on them. If this big fellow was the whole Carlisle track team, he would be competing against an entire Lafayette squad.

He did. He ran sprints, he ran hurdles, he ran distance races. He high-jumped, he broad-jumped. He threw the javelin and the shot. Finishing first in eight events, the big fellow beat the whole Lafayette team.

The big fellow was Jim Thorpe, the greatest American athlete of modern times. He was born on May 28, 1888, in a two-room farmhouse near Prague, Oklahoma. His parents were members of the Sac and Fox Indian tribe and he was a direct descendant of the famous warrior chief, Black Hawk.

As a Sac and Fox, Jim had the colorful Indian name Wa-Tho-Huck, which, translated, means Bright Path. But being born an Indian, his path was not so bright. Although he had the opportunity to hunt and fish with great Indian outdoorsmen, he was denied opportunity in other ways. The United States government controlled the lives of American Indians and, unlike other people, Indians did not automatically become citizens. It was almost impossible for an Indian to gain even a fair education and extremely difficult, as a result, for an Indian to rise high in life.

Young Bright Path seemed destined to spend his life in the Oklahoma farmland. But when he was in his teens, the government gave him the chance to attend the Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania. Soon Carlisle was racing along its own bright path to athletic prominence. In whatever sport Jim Thorpe played, he excelled. He was a star in baseball, track and field, wrestling, lacrosse, basketball and football. He was so good in football, in fact, that most other small schools refused to play Carlisle. The Indian school's football schedule soon listed such major powers of the early twentieth century as Pittsburgh, Harvard, Pennsylvania, Penn State and Army.

Thorpe was a halfback. He was six feet one inch tall, weighed 185 pounds and had incredible speed and power. He built upon these natural gifts daily. He would watch a coach or player demonstrate a difficult maneuver, then he would try it himself. Inevitably, he would master the maneuver within minutes.

During every game, opponents piled on Thorpe, trampled him, kicked him and punched him, trying to put him out of action. They were never successful. Years later someone asked him if he had ever been hurt on the field. "Hurt?" Thorpe said. "How could anyone get hurt playing football?"

But Jim never played his best when he felt he would have no fun playing. "What's the fun of playing in the rain?" he once said. And his Carlisle coach, Pop Warner, once said, "There's no doubt that Jim had more talent than anybody who ever played football, but you could never tell when he felt like giving his best."

Football, though, did not provide Thorpe with his finest hour. He was selected for the United States Olympic track team in 1912, and went to Sweden with the team for the Games. On the ship, while the other athletes limbered up, Thorpe slept in his bunk. In Sweden, while other athletes trained, Thorpe relaxed in a hammock. He never strained when he didn't feel it necessary.

Thorpe came out of his hammock when the Games began, to take part in the two most demanding Olympic events. He entered the pentathlon competition, a test of skill in five events: 200-meter run, 1500-meter run, broad jump, discus and javelin; and the decathlon competition, a series of ten events: 100-meter run, 400-meter run, 1500-meter run, high hurdles, broad jump, high jump, pole vault, discus, javelin and shot put. Though most athletes were utterly exhausted by the decathlon alone, Thorpe breezed through both events, his dark hair flopping, his smile flashing, his muscled body gliding along the track. He finished first in both the pentathlon and decathlon, one of the great feats in Olympic history.

"You sir," King Gustav V of Sweden told Thorpe as he presented him with two gold medals, "are the greatest athlete in the world." And William Howard Taft, the President of the United States, said, "Jim Thorpe is the highest type of citizen."

King Gustav V was correct, but President Taft was not. Though Jim Thorpe had brought great glory to his nation, though thousands of people cheered him upon his return to the United States and attended banquets and a New York parade in his honor, he was not a citizen. He did not become one until 1916. Even then, it took a special government ruling because he was an Indian.

Jim Thorpe was a hero after the Olympics and a sad, bewildered man not too much later. Someone discovered that two years before the Olympics he had been paid a few dollars to play semiprofessional baseball. Though many amateur athletes had played for pay under false names, Thorpe had used his own name. As a result, he was not technically an amateur when he competed at Stockholm as all Olympic athletes must be. His Olympic medals and trophies were taken away from him and given to the runners-up.

After this heartbreaking experience, Thorpe turned to professional sports. He played major league baseball for six years and did fairly well. Then he played professional football for six years with spectacular success. His last professional football season was in 1926. After that, his youthful indifference to studies and his unwillingness to think of a nonsports career caught up with him. He had trouble finding a job, and his friends deserted him. He periodically asked for, but never was given back, his Olympic prizes. From 1926 until his death in 1953, he lived a poor, lonely, unhappy life.

But in 1950 the Associated Press held a poll to determine the outstanding athlete of the half-century. Despite his loss of the Olympic gold medals and a sad decline in fortune during his later years, Thorpe was almost unanimously chosen the greatest athlete of modern times.