Authors: Don Coldsmith

The Long Journey Home (22 page)

BOOK: The Long Journey Home

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T
he decathlon â¦ Day one â¦

As was to be expected with the onset of rain, Thorpe got off to a bad start. In the first event, the 100-meter dash, he was nosed out by one of his own teammates, E. L. R. Mercer, a specialist at the sprint. This was not unexpected.

In the next event, the running broad jump, the rain really began to cause problems. The takeoff board was slippery, and many of the contestants were scored with faults. Thorpe was faulted twice, and on the third try jumped a qualifying distance of 22 feet, 2.3 inches. It was not good enough. Lomberg, of Sweden, bested Jim's jump by 4.4 inches.

Thorpe was discouraged. He was not accustomed to losing. If he could not do better in the shot put, he might as well forget the decathlon. He was wet and miserable, and it was hard to see any fun in competing in the continuing drizzle.

“Come on, Jim,” suggested John. “Let's get you into some dry warmups before the shot put.”

By the time the clerk called, “All out for the shot put,” Thorpe's attitude had improved. Still, he knew that he must do well in this event. He put the 16-pound shot 42 feet, 5 and

inches, scoring first place and beating Wieslander's toss by 2Â½ feet.

He was exuberant in the locker room. Pop Warner, soaking wet but happy, laughed at Thorpe's explanation.

“Maybe it was the dry uniform that helped me win.”

Maybe it was.

Day two â¦

High jump, another first with a jump of 6 feet, 1.6 inches. The clear and balmy weather undoubtedly helped.

The 400-meter run saw Mercer, the sprint specialist, winning over Thorpe with a time of 43.3 seconds, compared to Thorpe's 45.3.

In the next event, however, the 110-meter hurdles was a specialty of Thorpe's, if he could be said to have one. His time in the Olympiad, 15.6 seconds, established a record that would stand for thirty-six years, when it was to fall by a mere tenth of a second.

The crowd was beginning to recognize and to cheer Thorpe.

Decathlon events are scored against a standard, with a maximum 1,000 points per event, a possible total of 10,000 points. An athlete breaking or equaling the standing record receives 1,000, with points deducted for lesser scores. At the finish of the second day, even with performances that disappointed Thorpe, he had totaled 5,302.87 points. Mercer, the sprinter, with spectacular wins, had accumulated 4,752.20. Lomberg of Sweden ranked third, with 4,664.39.

Day three â¦

The first three of the four competitions would be field events: discus, pole vault, and javelin. These were specialties of the great Wieslander, and events which Thorpe did not consider his best. Despite this, he managed to score one second place and two thirds, coming in closely enough to the leaders to accumulate more total points.

The last event of the games, just before the award ceremonies, would be the 1500-meter race. His performance in the same event in the pentathlon had been so spectacular that the crowd had picked him as their favorite. It had been a grueling week, and it was anticipated that he would likely be slowing from exhaustion. Instead, Thorpe bettered his own time in the previous 1500-meter run, by more than four seconds: 4 minutes, 40.1 seconds.

Thorpe's final point score in the decathlon was 8,412.955 out of 10,000, 688 points ahead of the runner-up, Sweden's Wieslander, with 7,724.495. Five other athletes were bunched in the 7,000 range, including Americans Donahue and Mercer.

These were the last events of the Olympiad, and the presentation of honors that afternoon was carried out by King Gustav.
The New York Times
reported:

When James Thorpe, the Carlisle Indian and finest all-around athlete in the world, appeared to claim the prizes for winning the pentathlon, there was a great burst of cheers, led by the King. The immense crowd cheered itself hoarse.

King Gustav regained his dignity and presented the laurel wreath and gold medal. He also presented a life-size bronze bust of himself to Jim Thorpe.

Later, the ceremony was repeated for the decathlon: the wreath and medal, as well as a silver chalice studded with jewels, in the shape of a Viking ship, a gift from the Czar of Russia.

The King himself appeared nearly overcome with emotion. Breaking tradition, he extended a handshake.

“Sir, you are the greatest athlete in the world!” he pronounced.

Jim Thorpe's response, equally emotional but humble and barely audible, was typical:

“Thanks, King.”

He was to state later that it was the proudest moment of his life.

Americans had dominated the 1912 Olympiad. As an extra honor for the Indians of Carlisle, Louis Tewanima won the silver medal in the 10,000-meter marathon.

The Americans decided to take advantage of the publicity that had been generated by Thorpe's spectacular showing.

“John,” said Pop Warner, “I've booked a couple of exhibition meets for Jim. You want to stay over with us, or go back on the
Finland
?”

“Hadn't thought about it, sir. What's Tewanima going to do?”

“Louis will stay with us. He'll compete in the exhibitions, too. He's really enjoying all this, I think.”

“Aren't we all, Pop?”

They chuckled together.

“Yes,” John went on. “It's hard to let go of the excitement. I'll stay with you. How long?”

“Couple of weeks â¦ I'm working on the schedule. Everybody in Europe wants to see Jim run, I guess.”

Thorpe was unable to accept all the invitations: to compete, to meet dignitaries, even to dinner. There were simply too many. The party from Carlisle was entertained like royalty. They saw some beautiful country, tasted fine wine and unfamiliar foods with exotic flavors, met dignitaries and, in general, had an all-around good time.

It was pleasant to bask in the reflected honor that was bestowed on Jim
Thorpe. It was not unlike traveling with the 101 Wild West Show, and seeing the awe in the eyes of children as they gazed at the colorful performers, the animals, and the assorted equipment. Only this time it was more personal, and it was even better. He wished that Hebbie could be here to share these experiences with him. That was the fly in the ointment, the slight twinge of guilt that he felt as he saw and experienced Europe at its best.

Even to an experienced traveler like John, who had traveled the show circuit, transportation in Europe was an amazing phenomenon. He was quite familiar with trains, their major mode of travel with the 101. The ranch owned its own rolling stock and many miles of track.

In the past few years, too, there had been a proliferation of automobiles, powered by a variety of energy sources: steam, coal oil or gasoline in the new internal-combustion engines; even electricity. That was an amazing thing to John: a battery of glass jars filled with acid, which occupied the covered rear deck of the automobile, much like the baggage boot of a stagecoach. These were connected by wires or cables to each other and to the engine, an electric motor which produced the rotation of the rear wheels. One major advantage of this electric carriage was its complete silence, compared to the noisy clatter, smell, and smoke of the steam and gasoline autos. They often frightened women and children, and caused stampedes by runaway horses. John had seen towns where automobiles were forbidden by city ordinance. In the major cities, of course, they were becoming more and more commonplace. Their stop in New York before boarding the ship for Stockholm had shown that. There was a noticeable increase in the number of automobiles in just the two years since Bill Pickett had counted their numbers on the 101 “gang's” excursion to Coney Island.

Aeroplanes, too â¦ John had seen several in the past two years. The Wright brothers had opened a virtual Pandora's box with their flights only a few years ago. There had even been a flier, a friend of the Millers, who had landed at the 101 Ranch last year.

John doubted that the flimsy-looking things, made of sticks and piano wire and covered with canvas, would ever be practical. Interesting, though.

Here in Europe, there was a greater density of population. Not only more people, but more trains, automobiles, and aeroplanes. Everybody seemed to be going somewhere.

However, John was completely unprepared for the sight that occurred one afternoon while they were attending one of the exhibition contests. He realized that people around him were looking up at the sky, and beginning to chatter in their own tongue. Just as he was about to look up, Tewanima grabbed his arm and pointed, talking rapidly in Hopi.

There in the sky overhead was a huge silver cigar-shaped craft. It was hard
to judge its size, but John estimated that it must be as long as a football field. There seemed to be engine noise from it, though it was hard to tell over the noise of the crowd at the track meet. A compartment with windows much like a Pullman car hung below it, and he thought he could see people looking out the windows.

“What the hell is
that
?” John exclaimed in wonder.

“An airship of some kind?” suggested Pop Warner.

“You've seen them before?” John asked.

“No â¦ read about 'em. Let's ask Sven, here.”

They turned to the young man who had been assigned as their interpreter.

“Airship? Yes â¦ â
Zeppelin
.' There is regular service in Germany. Some flights to here, sometimes to Paris.”

“What means â
Zeppelin
'?” John asked.

“A man's name. He made it. How do you say â¦ ?” pondered the interpreter.

“Invented it?”

“Yes. That is it. Invented.”

The great silver ship sailed smoothly overhead and on into the distance, and John had a strange feeling that the world he knew would soon be obsolete.

Only now did he understand fully the urgency that the Millers felt to preserve their heritage, that of the American West. In this rush to modernization, everything familiar was slipping away, and quite rapidly.

THIRTY-EIGHT

T
he noon Cumberland Valley train drew to a stop at Carlisle, Pennsylvania, on Friday, August 16, 1912, brakes squealing and her venting steam chest hissing. A cheering crowd of 15,000 greeted the travelers as they stepped down to the platform. There were students and townspeople and dignitaries, and banners proclaiming “Hail to Chief Thorpe,” “A Carlisle Indian,” and other slogans. The band was playing.

There were speeches of congratulation, led by Superintendent Friedman of the Carlisle Indian School.

“This is an occasion for congratulation. It is a national occasion. The things we celebrate here and the heroes we welcome to Carlisle concern the whole country â¦ . We have here real Americans, known as Indians, but whose forefathers were on the reception committee which welcomed to this soil the famed first settlers who arrived on the
Mayflower
.

“We welcome you, James Thorpe, to this town and back to your school. You have covered yourself with glory â¦ .”

The speeches went on for some time, and the excitement lingered even longer. It was a good day.

“But, John, I don't see why you couldn't stay. Admittedly, it's not a high-pay coaching job, which you'd certainly be qualified for. But, it could lead to something better. Give it time, son. We're about to start football season. Thorpe has another year of eligibility. So does Tewanima. You work well with both.”

“I'm honored, sir,” John told Pop Warner, “but â¦ Well, I made a commitment.”

“Where will you go?”

“Oklahoma â¦ the Hundred and One.”

“More cowboyin'? â¦ Wait! There must be a girl â¦ . Ah! Of course! That would be it,” laughed the coach. “Well, you can always tell a man in love, I've heard, but you can't tell him much.”

John was blushing scarlet, even though he knew that Warner was sympathetic to his plight. But he had made up his mind.

“Thanks, Coach,” he said, “but I really do need to get back there. Hope you have a good football season.”

Carlisle did have a good football season, though not a perfect one. In fourteen games, their record for the 1912 season was 12-1-1. They scored a total of 504 points to 114 by their opponents.

Kyle Chrichton, who witnessed the Lehigh game, where Lehigh was heavily favored, later wrote his impressions:

The Indians were the first team I ever saw that disdained dressing-room rites between halves â¦ . They simply wandered off to a side of the field when the half ended and had a hilarious time among themselves until the whistle blew. Anybody who thinks the Indians are a solemn race is nuts. Do you know how they called signals in that game? They'd line up and then Old Jim would yell “How about through left tackle this time?” and off they'd go, right through that spot. Next time Jim would yell “Right end, huh?” and away they'd go again. After the first few times, Lehigh realized they weren't kidding and rushed all their defenses to the spot, but it never did any good. They'd pick up three or four or five yards at a clip, and then Jim would break off for a real good gain. And if they got stopped with that monkey business, they'd run sequence plays, three or four quick plays, without a signal. There'd be a wide sweep to the left, line up quick, bang; to the left again. Before Lehigh woke up, the Indians had another 30 yards and were chuckling among themselves.

West Point was probably the toughest foe the Indians met that season. Gus Welch, the quarterback, recalled:

Pop Warner had no trouble getting the boys up for the game. He reminded the boys that it was the fathers and grandfathers of these Army players who fought the Indians. That was enough.

One of the Army athletes, who played right halfback, commented years later:

Except for [Thorpe], Carlisle would have been an easy team to beat. On the football field, there was no one like him in the world. Against us, he dominated all of the actions.

The halfback's name was Dwight Eisenhower.

When John stepped off the train at Bliss, Oklahoma, Hebbie was there to meet him. With a mixture of laughter and tears, she flew into his arms â¦ .

“Oh, Hebbie!” he moaned in ecstasy.

He woke with a start. He'd fallen asleep in the seat of the railway coach, and was dreaming. Embarrassed, he took a quick look up and down the aisle of the rocking car, wondering if he'd really spoken aloud.

Some of the other passengers were drowsing, too. It was hot and dusty. It might have been worse except for the hot breeze generated through the open windows by the train's motion. A plump middle-aged woman across the aisle was smiling coquettishly at him. He
must
have said something aloud. Either that, or she was trying to establish a connection. Maybe both. He couldn't remember what he might have said in his dream, and had no idea whether anyone had heard him. It was a very uncomfortable situation.

The train slowed. Probably time to take on water. Maybe also a thirty-minute stop for dinner at one of the fine Harvey House restaurants along the rail system. He hoped so. It would help to be able to get out and walk around a bit. But he saw the frequent mandatory stops with a certain amount of impatience. He longed to be back on the 101 with Hebbie.

There was also the fact that he had not heard from her for some time. He had been traveling, of course, and Hebbie would know that his mail could not be forwarded. However, he had expected that there would be mail held for him at Carlisle. He was uneasy when there was nothing. Several weeks had passed while he was in Europe. Surely, she would have at least had a letter waiting for him. Deep in the back of his mind was an uneasy doubt. He had been away a long time â¦ .

When he did actually step from the train onto the platform at Bliss, he hoped against hope that she would be there to greet him. He had written her to tell her approximately when he'd arrive. Actually, it would be a slim chance that she would guess which train would carry him back to Oklahoma. Still, it was a disappointmentâ

“John? John Buffalo?” called a voice. But it was a male voice.

He turned.

“Gus!”

A team and wagon stood at the loading dock, and the driver was stacking boxes from the platform into the wagon bed. On the side of the wagon was the ever-present logo: 101.

“Didn't know you were comin' back today,” Gus said cheerfully. “Want a ride out to the ranch?”

“Sure. Thanks, Gus. Can I help you load?”

“About done, now. Reckon your timing's as good as ever. You got more baggage?”

“No, this is it,” John said.

The cowboy set the last box in the wagon bed, and the two men took their places on the seat. Gus clucked to the team and the horses leaned into their collars for the hour's drive to the ranch.

“Well,” said Gus, “we heard all about the Olympics and Jim Thorpe. That must have been some show.”

“It sure was, Gus. Sometimes I can hardly believe it, even now. How are things on the Hundred an' One?”

“Busy! The show's still on the road, of course. But, damnation, John â¦ Let's see â¦ You've been gone a year, right?”

“Nearer two.”

“Oh! Well, there is a lot, then. You mind that some of the show folks were headin' for warmer winters â¦ South America, even? Well, Joe Miller got the idea of winterin' in California. Cheaper and a sight easier than here. Joe even bought a house there, moved his family.”

“Left the 101?”

“Not really. They live both places, go back and forth with the seasons. But, John, you'd never have expected â¦ There are other outfitsâshow outfitsâwinterin' there. Al G. Barnes's Circus, an' the “Two Bills” Wild West â¦ Buffalo Bill and Pawnee Bill, y'know.”

“They merged?”

“Yep! Never figgered that, would you? They're all in sort of the same area. Town called Venice. But say! You remember them movin'-picture folks â¦ Bill Selig an' them? Well, a bunch of them are out there. I guess the weather's mild enough they can shoot pictures damn' near all winter. A bunch of our gang are out there, doin' that. Tom Mix â¦ Say, you know what a talker an' show-off he allus was? Well, he shore found his place, with the picture folks. Some of our others, too. Hoot Gibson, Hoxie â¦”

“They all quit the 101?”

“Well, not necessarily. More like the 101 joined them. The Millers, especially Joe, travelin' back an' forth, are really into the movin'-picture thing. Partnerin' in some of the picture work. Now, you see them new log cabins over southwest, there?”

Gus pointed to some structures in the distance.

“Yep â¦ What are those?”

“Just that. Cabins. The movin'-picture business was goin' on here in the summer an' in California in the winter. But some of them city folks get a little upset at scorpions an' rattlers comin' in their tents. So the Millers built them cabins. Use 'em for scenery, too, for shootin' the movin' pictures. âMovies,' they call âem now, y'know.”

“You been to California, Gus?”

“Sure. A couple of times. We took a whole herd of buffalo, some longhorns, and about thirty of the Indian families and their lodges out there last year, on contract to one of them movie outfits. Horses too, of course.”

The talkative cowboy was in his element. John longed to ask him about Hebbie, but Gus was too busy in his enthusiasm about the new directions the 101 empire was taking.

“ â¦ and say! You know about the Tournament of Roses?”

“What's that?”

“Well, one of them California townsâPasadena, I think it's calledâhas this big parade, celebratin' that they can grow flowers in the wintertime. They end it up with a big chariot race. Have it on New Year's Day â¦ . Well, you know how Joe feels about parades. We took damn' near the whole outfit last time, while you were gone. âCourse, half the show was already there. But remember Lillie Francis? Great-lookin' cowgirl! Well, Mel Saunders, the Romanrider, and ol' Oscar Rixson, the bronc tamer, was both courtin' her. They all agreed that she'd marry the winner of a horse race they'd have at the Roses thing. Turned out to be a bigger drawin' card than the chariot race!”

“Who won?”

“Mel did. He's the better horseman, I reckon. But say, what a party we had! They was married next day, and we partied till we put 'em on the train back to the 101 for the honeymoon.”

Gus paused, lost in thought.

“Let's see, now â¦ . George Miller bought a new kind of carâCadillac, they call it. Always the latest, y'know. Say, you heard about the fire on the show train? Up in Wisconsin â¦ One of the canvas cars caught fire. They stopped near a crick, an' ol' Beasleyâused to be Princess Wenona's husband, you 'member, he got a bucket brigade goin' â¦ . Saved the train, I reckon. But a few days after, they had a wreck. Derailed five cars, killed some of the horses. Had to put some more down, they was hurt so bad. An' at night, in a storm, with lightnin' around 'em â¦ pourin' rain. Purty tough summer, eh? Joe took it purty hard. You know how he is about the livestock. Has a real affection for 'em, hates to see 'em hurt â¦ .

“Oh, yeah! Talk about a scandal â¦ Zack's wife, Mabel, ran off. Zack had a detective agency lookin' for her, wantin' to serve divorce papers on her â¦ . They found her in Tulsa, we heard, with some fella.”

Thoughts of Hebbie were floating through John's mind as Gus recounted the details. Finally he had to ask.

“How's Hebbie doin', Gus? I haven't heard from her in some time.”

Gus was silent for a little while, and finally spoke in a solemn voice.

“I'm sorry, John. I supposed you knew. She ain't at the 101.”

“She's
not
? What â¦ Where is she?”

“Well, she got sick. Phthisis, or consumption, or whatever they call it. She was coughin' a lot. The doctor sent her to one of them saniâWhatever they call 'em, the hospital where folks go with that coughin'.”

“A sanatorium?”

“Yep, that's it! A âTB san,' they called it.”

“
When
, Gus?”

“Well, must have been in July, as I recall â¦ Place out of state somewhere. She didn't write you about it?”

“I've been travelin', Gus.”

“What â¦ Oh, sure. The Olympics â¦”

“Yes, and then we traveled to some exhibition meets. Lord, I didn't know â¦ . I'd have come back, Gus, if I'd had any idea.”

“I know you would, John. I'm sorry.”

BOOK: The Long Journey Home

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