Carl Lewis | American athlete | Britannica.com American athlete Alternative Title: Frederick Carlton Lewis Carl Lewis Carl Lewis, in full Frederick Carlton Lewis (born July 1, 1961, Birmingham , Alabama , U.S.), American track-and-field athlete, who won nine Olympic gold medals during the 1980s and ’90s. Carl Lewis flying through the air during the long jump finals at the 1992 Olympic Games in … © Eric Feferberg—AFP/Getty Images Lewis qualified for the U.S. Olympic team in 1980 but did not compete, because of the U.S. boycott of the Moscow Games. At the 1984 Games in Los Angeles , Lewis won gold medals in the 100-metre (9.9 sec) and 200-metre (19.8 sec) races, in the long jump (8.54 metres [28.02 feet]), and as a member of the U.S. 4 × 100-metre relay team, which he anchored.

Lewis became the third track-and-field athlete to win four gold medals in one Olympics, joining Americans Alvin Kraenzlein (1900) and Jesse Owens , the latter of whom won the same four events at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin that Lewis won in Los Angeles. Lewis added two more gold medals and a silver medal at the 1988 Games in Seoul, South Korea , becoming the first Olympic athlete to win consecutive long-jump gold medals, with a leap of 8.72 metres (28.61 feet). Lewis had the four best jumps in the competition, and his Olympic title was part of a long string of consecutive long-jump victories that extended over several years during the 1980s. Lewis’s other gold medal at the 1988 Games came in the 100 metres (9.92 sec), after Canadian Ben Johnson , who had won in world-record time (9.79 sec), was disqualified three days later after testing positive for anabolic steroids. Lewis settled for a silver in the 200 metres.

At the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona, Spain , Lewis won two more gold medals, including his third consecutive long-jump title, with a leap of 8.67 metres (28.44 feet). Again anchoring the U.S. 4 × 100-metre relay team, Lewis won his eighth gold medal as the team set a world and Olympic record of 37.40 sec. At age 35 Lewis was a surprise qualifier in the long jump for the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia, where he “ran through” his first jump and notched a ho-hum 8.14 metres (26.71 feet) on his second leap. However, his last leap of 8.5 metres (27.89 feet), though well off any records or personal bests, held up as the top jump and earned Lewis his ninth gold medal. In 1997 he retired from competition. Two years later, he was named Sportsman of the Century by the International Olympic Committee .

Britannica Stories About | Jesse Owens About Jesse Owens Biography Jesse Owens, the son of a sharecropper and grandson of a slave, achieved what no Olympian before him had accomplished. His stunning achievement of four gold medals at the 1936 Olympic games in Berlin has made him the best remembered athlete in Olympic history. The seventh child of Henry and Emma Alexander Owens was named James Cleveland when he was born in Alabama on September 12, 1913. "J.C.", as he was called, was nine when the family moved to Cleveland, Ohio, where his new schoolteacher gave him the name that was to become known around the world. The teacher was told "J.C." when she asked his name to enter in her roll book, but she thought he said "Jesse". The name stuck and he would be known as Jesse Owens for the rest of his life. His promising athletic career began in 1928 in Cleveland, Ohio where he set Junior High School records by clearing 6 feet in the high jump, and leaping 22 feet 11 3/4 inches in the running broad jump, now known as the long jump.

During his high school days, he won all of the major track events, including the Ohio state championship three consecutive years. At the National Interscholastic meet in Chicago, during his senior year, he set a new high school world record by running the 100 yard dash in 9.4 seconds to tie the accepted world record, and he created a new high school world record in the 220 yard dash by running the distance in 20.7 seconds. A week earlier he had set a new world record in the long jump by jumping 24 feet 11 3/4 inches. Owens' sensational high school track career resulted in him being recruited by dozens of colleges. Owens chose the Ohio State University, even though OSU could not offer a track scholarship at the time. He worked a number of jobs to support himself and his young wife, Ruth. He worked as a night elevator operator, a waiter, he pumped gas, worked in the library stacks, and served a stint as a page in the Ohio Statehouse, all of this in between practice and record setting on the field in intercollegiate competition.

Jesse gave the world a preview of things to come in Berlin, while at the Big Ten Championships in Ann Arbor on May 25, 1935, he set three world records and tied a fourth, all in a span of about 45 minutes. Jesse was uncertain as to whether he would be able to participate at all, as he was suffering from a sore back as a result from a fall down a flight of stairs. He convinced his coach to allow him to run the 100-yard dash as a test for his back, and amazingly Jesse recorded an official time of 9.4 seconds, once again tying the world record. Despite the pain, he then went on to participate in three other events, setting a world record in each event. In a span of 45 minutes, Jesse accomplished what many experts still feel is the greatest athletic feat in history...setting 3 world records and tying a fourth in four grueling track and field events. His success at the 1935 Big Ten Championships gave him the confidence that he was ready to excel at the highest level.

Jesse entered the 1936 Olympics, which were held in Nazi Germany amidst the belief by Hitler that the Games would support his belief that the German "Aryan" people were the dominant race. Jesse had different plans, as he became the first American track & field athlete to win four gold medals in a single Olympiad. This remarkable achievement stood unequaled until the 1984 Olympic Games in Los Angeles, when American Carl Lewis matched Jesse's feat. Although others have gone on to win more gold medals than Jesse, he remains the best remembered Olympic athlete because he achieved what no Olympian before or since has accomplished. During a time of deep-rooted segregation, he not only discredited Hitler's master race theory, but also affirmed that individual excellence, rather than race or national origin, distinguishes one man from another. Jesse Owens proved in Berlin and thereafter that he was a dreamer who could make the dreams of others come true, a speaker who could make the world listen and a man who held out hope to millions of young people. Throughout his life, he worked with youths, sharing of himself and the little material wealth that he had.

In this way, Jesse Owens was equally the champion on the playground of the poorest neighborhoods as he was on the oval of the Olympic games. Athletes didn't return from the Olympics to lucrative advertising and product endorsement campaigns in those days, and Owens supported his young family with a variety of jobs. One was of special significance - playground director in Cleveland. It was his first step into a lifetime of working with underprivileged youth, which gave him his greatest satisfaction. After relocating to Chicago, he devoted much of his time to underprivileged youth as a board member and former director of the Chicago Boys' Club. Owens traveled widely in his post-Olympic days. He was an inspirational speaker, highly sought after to address youth groups, professional organizations, civic meetings, sports banquets, PTAs, church organizations, brotherhood and black history programs, as well as high school and college commencements and ceremonies. He was also a public relations representative and consultant to many corporations, including Atlantic Richfield, Ford and the United States Olympic Committee. A complete list of the many awards and honors presented to Jesse Owens by groups around the world would fill dozens of pages.

In 1976, Jesse was awarded the highest civilian honor in the United States when President Gerald Ford presented him with the Medal of Freedom in front of the members of the U.S. Montreal Olympic team in attendance. In February, 1979, he returned to the White House, where President Carter presented him with the Living Legend Award. On that occasion, President Carter said this about Jesse, "A young man who possibly didn't even realize the superb nature of his own capabilities went to the Olympics and performed in a way that I don't believe has ever been equaled since...and since this superb achievement, he has continued in his own dedicated but modest way to inspire others to reach for greatness". Jesse Owens died from complications due to lung cancer on March 31, 1980 in Tucson, Arizona. Although words of sorrow, sympathy and admiration poured in from all over the world, perhaps President Carter said it best when he stated: "Perhaps no athlete better symbolized the human struggle against tyranny, poverty and racial bigotry. His personal triumphs as a world-class athlete and record holder were the prelude to a career devoted to helping others.

His work with young athletes, as an unofficial ambassador overseas, and a spokesman for freedom are a rich legacy to his fellow Americans." Jesse's spirit still lives in his three daughters, Gloria, Marlene, and Beverly, and their work with the Jesse Owens Foundation. The Foundation continues to carry on Jesse's legacy by providing financial assistance, support, and services to young individuals with untapped potential in order to develop their talents, broaden their horizons, and become better citizens. There is no doubt that Jesse would be proud. Accomplishments & Awards Jesse set or tied national high school records in the 100 yard dash, 200-yard dash, and the long jump. After a stellar high school career, he attended Ohio State University. On May 25, 1935, at the Big Ten Conference Championships in Ann Arbor, Michigan, Owens broke three world records (long jump, 220-yard dash and 220-yard low hurdles) and tied a fourth (100-yard dash), all in a 45 minute span.

In his junior year at Ohio State, Owens competed in 42 events and won them all, including four in the Big Ten Championships, four in the NCAA Championships, two in the AAU Championships and three at the Olympic Trials. In 1936, Jesse became the first American in Olympic Track and Field history to win four gold medals in a single Olympiad by winning four gold medals: 100 meter dash in 10.3 seconds (tying the world record), long jump with a jump of 26' 5 1/4" (Olympic record), 200 meter dash in 20.7 seconds (Olympic record), and 400 meter relay (first leg) in 39.8 seconds (Olympic and world record). In 1976, Jesse was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest award bestowed upon a civilian, by Gerald R. Ford. Owens was posthumously awarded the Congressional Gold Medal in 1990 by President George H.W. Bush.

© The 1984 Los Angeles Olympics: A Run to Glory | Runner's World Races & Places Olympics The 1984 Los Angeles Olympics: A Run to Glory Thirty years ago this month, a band of extraordinarily gifted American athletes resurrected the Olympic games and changed distance running forever. By John Brant Thursday, July 17, 2014, 12:36 pm The Olympics returned to the United States with epic fanfare in the summer of 1984. The lavish opening ceremony at Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum set a new standard for all future Olympic Games. David Burnett They were the first Summer Olympic Games held in the United States in more than 50 years. The first Games in which female runners were permitted to compete in a marathon. The first Games to be organized and funded exclusively through private means--and the first to turn a significant profit. The first Games in which American track-and-field athletes openly endorsed commercial products, and the first to be marketed and produced primarily as a vehicle for mass televised entertainment. The 1984 Los Angeles Olympics were thick with firsts. But now, on their 30th anniversary, I mainly remember them as the first Summer Games happening in color.

In my imagination, all previous Olympics transpired in the black-and-white of archival photographs, Bud Greenspan--directed documentaries, and pre-instant-replay television; a chiaroscuro depicting an era of wars and cold wars, austere sacrifice, and grave historical import. Jesse Owens modestly grinning; Adolf Hitler scowling. Abebe Bikila gliding barefoot through the torch-lit streets of Rome. Billy Mills 's inspired, broken-field weave down the cinder-track homestretch in Tokyo. These images and more unspool in a mental highlight film shot in stark, glorious black-and-white. (In actual fact, color broadcasts of the Olympics began in 1968.) Advertisement Privacy Policy | About Us A jet-pack performance at the 1985 Olympic Games. Getty Images L.A. '84, by contrast, splashed over the globe in wide-screen Hollywood Technicolor. Sussman/Prejza and The Jerde Partnership, the design and architectural firms hired by the Los Angeles Olympic Organizing Committee (LAOOC), draped the Olympic venues in a hot-pink and campy-orange color scheme chosen for its festive appeal.

The signature arches of the Coliseum's proscenium gleamed white in the dazzling sunshine; the surrounding hills stood golden against an azure, smog-free sky. And, most vividly, thousands of handheld American flags fluttered everywhere, a red, white, and blue storm riding the zephyr breeze, in these first modern Olympic Games of unfettered, unabashed, host-nation patriotism. Fans waved because the doubts and anxieties of the Vietnam War era had faded, replaced by feelings of power and prosperity encouraged by the Ronald Reagan presidency (in a pre-Games pep talk to the U.S. team, recalling his signature movie role, the President urged the Olympians to "win one for the Gipper"). But they also waved because the home-team athletes on the Coliseum track ran and jumped so memorably. They waved for Edwin Moses as he gracefully extended a historic streak of sustained excellence, and for Mary Decker up until the moment of her spectral, tragic fall. In the cases of Joan Benoit , the first female champion of the Games' longest running event, and Carl Lewis , the new master of its shortest, they waved because a pair of crossover legends had emerged to stand with the Olympic icons of any era.

The fans at L.A. '84 waved their flags because, pomp, glitz, and circumstance aside, they witnessed the greatest track-and-field performances ever held on American soil. * * * Growing up in the 1960s, I had been a fervent fan of the Olympics and every high-minded ideal I believed they represented, lapping up each iconic televised moment, from Rome '60 to Mexico City '68. Reaching adulthood in the 1970s, however, I grew to regard the Olympics as a wasteful and antiquated quadrennial exercise in propaganda and worse. Save for Frank Shorter 's gold-medal marathon, Munich '72 unfolded like a nightmare, defined by a terrorist attack that left 11 athletes dead. Four years later, the Montreal Games slid into debacle, remembered for anabolic-zonked Eastern bloc athletes mounting the medal podium and mountains of taxpayer debt. The nadir came at Moscow '80, when, to protest the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, the U.S. led 60 other nations in boycotting the Games. Bitterly divisive at home and abroad, the move threatened to doom the modern Olympic movement.

"Coming out of Moscow," says Alan Abrahamson, a journalism professor at the University of Southern California, "the Olympic brand was broken." So broken that, among all global capitals, only Los Angeles and Tehran, of all places, showed interest in hosting the 1984 Summer Games. In the end, L.A. won uncontested. Could Los Angeles possibly be up to the task of restoring the Olympic luster? Sprawling, polluted, and garish, with its epic traffic congestion and seething racial and economic tensions, L.A. seemed the emblem of American excess and dysfunction. Needing to avoid the crushing public debt incurred by the Montreal Games, moreover, the LAOOC was staging these Games seemingly on the cheap, relying on corporate sponsorship, television rights, and volunteer labor. Rather than following Olympic tradition by building expensive new arenas and "athlete villages," the committee mainly employed repurposed venues (some of them relics of the '32 Games, which were also hosted by Los Angeles) tricked up by Sussman/Prejza. And yet improbably, resoundingly, Los Angeles rose to the occasion.

Dire warnings on Armageddon-grade gridlock got through to Angelinos--traffic congestion in the region dropped 20 percent during the first two weeks of August. The Golden State, San Diego, Ventura, and other flagship freeways flowed as lyrically as their names, and the air of the L.A. basin glistened with a preternatural clarity. Meanwhile, a brisk air of competence ruled the sporting venues. Skillfully but not repressively organized by prominent businessman Peter Ueberroth, events clicked along with the type of smiling efficiency that characterized nearby Disneyland. Los Angeles seemed a city transformed. Even the hard South Central neighborhoods bordering the Coliseum had been swept clean. Proud householders waved from front porches, welcoming the world to their city. The Games ran a $223 million surplus, some of which endowed a foundation that, to this day, funds youth sports programs in Southern California. "The genius of Peter Ueberroth was that he underpromised and overdelivered," says Abrahamson.

"People here remember the time from Rafer Johnson lighting the cauldron at the opening ceremonies to the Rodney King Riots [in 1992] as a golden age in Southern California." 1960 decathlon champion Rafer Johnson lighting the Olympic Flame. David Turnley/Corbis "Absolutely, we underpromised," says Ueberroth. "We used the 1948 London Olympics as a model. Coming out of World War II, nobody else wanted to host the Games, and nobody thought that London, after all the destruction it had suffered during the war, could make the Olympics a success. We were in a similar position. We had to rescue the Games. The fact that we overdelivered was due to hard work, good luck, and the talents of 25,000 volunteers, who in many cases dedicated a year of their lives to L.A. '84. We could have had a fiasco, and a lot depended on track and field. Track and field was the centerpiece and heartbeat of the Games.

Thanks to the athletes, track and field went very well in Los Angeles, and everything fell into place around that." ABC paid $225 million for the rights to televise the '84 Games, more than twice the $87 million paid by NBC for rights to the '80 Moscow Games (today those numbers seem quaint: NBC paid $4.4 billion for U.S. rights to the 2012--2020 Summer and Winter Games), and for the first time, its coverage--not to mention the sponsorship and advertising campaigns of other companies--was designed to appeal to a prime-time, non-sports-fan audience. Hollywood maven David Wolper produced the opening ceremony, setting the template for every Games-opening TV extravaganza since. The rocket man flew into the stadium, powered by a jet-pack. Eighty-four tuxedoed pianists pounded out Gershwin, and a 736-member All-American Olympic Band paraded through the arena.

Such kitschy, jingoistic tropes are standard today--think of the air-brushed Russian history that Vladimir Putin staged for the opening ceremonies at the 2014 Sochi Winter Games--but they were all new at L.A. '84. When the glitz subsided, however, we were reminded that some serious sporting business lay at hand, with track and field at its core. The granddaughter of the late Jesse Owens bore the Olympic torch into the Coliseum, providing a promo for ABC's upcoming prime-time mini-series in which a handsome, superbly talented young athlete, played by Carl Lewis, would attempt to match Owens's transcendent feat at the '36 Berlin Games: gold medals in the 100 meters, 200 meters, long jump, and 4 x 100 relay. (And just as Owens's performance jabbed a thumb in Hitler's eye, Lewis's triumphs in the same events would blow a raspberry at the Soviet-led nations, which, in retaliation for the Moscow boycott, refused to participate in these L.A.

Games.) Next, Edwin Moses, the lone American individual-running-event champion in Montreal and owner of a 104-race winning streak in the 400-meter hurdles, recited the Olympic Oath, a piece of old-school Olympic tradition. Finally, 1960 decathlon gold medalist Rafer Johnson--another hallowed ghost from the black-and-white past--climbed the proscenium steps and lit the Olympic Flame under the famous arches. The L.A. '84 narrative in general, and its track-and-field subplot in particular, were now as perfectly framed as a Robert Towne screenplay: sparkling air and open freeways; private-sector can-do professionalism; a Hollywood aura of fun and flair; and a coterie of sublimely gifted runners, jumpers, and throwers performing at the peak of their power. "At L.A. '84 you had the rebirth of the Olympic movement coinciding with the prime of some very special American track athletes," says Joan Benoit Samuelson.

"I'm not sure we'll ever see that combination again." * * * On Sunday, August 5, about three miles and 14 minutes into the inaugural Olympic Women's Marathon, with the morning overcast still hanging over the Santa Monica beaches, a slight, dark-haired, 27-year-old woman from the coast of Maine broke away from a lead pack that included the prerace favorites Grete Waitz and Ingrid Kristiansen of Norway, and Rosa Mota from Portugal. It was a bold, almost rash gambit that seemed to play directly into the hands of Joan Benoit's rivals. Joan Benoit's gold-medal finish cemented her stardom. Sports Illustrated / Getty Images Kristiansen, who in the months prior to the Games had won the London Marathon in 2:24:26--the second-fastest marathon ever at the time--and set a 14:58.89 world record in the 5000, was confident in her superior finishing speed. "She [Benoit] is going away now, but we can take her after more kilometers," Kristiansen told reporters after the race.

"We had heard she had problem knees, and both Grete and I thought we were in better shape." The ensuing two-plus hours, of course, would emphatically prove Kristiansen wrong. Indeed, such was Benoit's mastery, so thoroughly did she dominate the race, that we assume her preparation must have been as flawless as her execution. But in fact, Benoit, known for her calm, grounded, balanced persona, arrived at the marathon after a season of crisis. Early in 1984, as a result of overtraining, Benoit developed a serious injury in her right knee. Just 17 days before the first U.S. Olympic Women's Marathon Trials in May, Dr. Stan James performed arthroscopic surgery in Eugene, Oregon. "The next week I could run pain-free," Benoit recalls. "It was so dramatic. Surgery is supposed to be like this, but it almost never is." Benoit immediately resumed hard training. Compensating for her tender knee, however, she blew out her left hamstring, an injury that proved more debilitating than the original issue. Less than a week remained before the Marathon Trials, and Benoit couldn't run without pain.

Desperate for a second deus ex machina cure, she turned to a self-taught therapist named Jack Scott, Ph.D. About to become one of the unifying, inspirational figures of the 1980s, Benoit entrusted herself to a notorious veteran of the previous decades' cultural wars. Indeed, Scott had been linked to a woman far better known than Benoit, and infinitely more divisive. In the early 1970s, Scott, a former Stanford and Syracuse sprinter and UC-Berkeley-educated sports psychologist, published The Athletic Revolution, an influential book arguing for increased athletes' rights, equal opportunity for minority and female athletes, and freedom from authoritarian coaches and administrators. Later in the 1970s, Scott became enmeshed in the Patty Hearst saga, driving Hearst and her SLA fugitive comrades across the country from Berkeley to a Pennsylvania safe house. In 1975, Scott's involvement in the affair formed the centerpiece of a Rolling Stone cover story. For a time he was famous--or, for many Americans, reviled--across the nation. Years of serious legal trouble ensued.

In the 1980s, Scott resurfaced as a therapist working with a device called the Acuscope, which transmitted microcurrents of electricity to injured muscles as a form of physical therapy. Based in Eugene, Scott treated many top track athletes, including Carl Lewis. Now, just days before the most important race of her career, Scott turned his machine on a frantic Joan Benoit. They worked for up to eight hours a day, the gimlet-eyed, bald-headed Scott zapping Benoit's hamstring with an urgency nearly as desperate as the athlete's. "I don't know if the Acuscope was a placebo or not," she says. "All I know is that it worked. I don't remember talking politics with Jack, and we didn't discuss Patty Hearst. I do remember Jack's penetrating eyes, and how determined he was to help me. Jack Scott was a good man." Before his death from cancer in 2000, I became friends with Scott. Still notorious for sheltering Hearst, he hoped to be remembered for helping to heal Benoit. "Since I was a little kid, the sport of track has always been my carrot," Scott told me.

"In 1984, after all those crazy years, I just wanted to get back to my carrot." At the Marathon Trials in Olympia, Washington, Benoit ran in an almost hypnotized state, expecting her tender leg to crumple with every step. "To this day, I don't know how I survived that race," she says. She held on to win in 2:31:04 and afterward dissolved in a grateful heap. But Benoit wasn't finished. Returning to Maine, she dived back into hard training, piling up the 100-plus-mile weeks. She worked with added intensity because the Olympic Marathon was scheduled less than 90 days away. Besides wanting to win the inaugural women's Olympic Marathon, she had another motivation. Before her Trials victory, in the fall of 1983, Benoit had traveled to Southern California for a tune-up half-marathon. A representative from Nike, her shoe sponsor, met her flight at LAX. "He asked me if I wanted to swing by the Coliseum and see my mural," Benoit Samuelson recalls. "I wasn't sure how to respond." Nike touted Joan Benoit's Boston Marathon win with a mural near the Coliseum.

AFP /Getty Images The mural, a 40-foot-high, hyper-realistic painting of Benoit crossing the finish line of her record-setting 1983 Boston Marathon , covered the entire side of a building on Menlo Avenue, adjacent to the Coliseum in downtown Los Angeles. The runner in the picture, of course, was not the intended audience. Thirty years ago, Nike had not yet evolved from a shoe and apparel company into a global leviathan. In fact, at the time the company's long-term profitability was not yet assured, having suffered a series of disappointing revenue years, drubbed by Reebok, which controlled the white-shoe aerobics market. So at L.A. '84, Nike executives chose not to spend nearly $4 million to secure official shoe sponsorship (Converse won that bid). Instead, Nike embarked on a campaign of "ambush marketing" that is still studied in the nation's MBA programs. The company commissioned giant murals of Benoit and other Nike athletes, which appeared on prominent locations close to Olympic venues.

Before and during the Games, a Nike TV commercial aired with Randy Newman singing "I Love L.A." Together with the success of its marquee athletes--e.g., Benoit and Carl Lewis, who sprinted and jumped in specially designed, swoosh-emblazoned spikes-the strategy delivered Nike a corporate gold medal. Its sales jumped 30 percent in Southern California following the Games. Many area residents and visitors thought Nike, not Converse, had officially sponsored the Olympics. "The '84 L.A. Olympics were a watershed for us," says Nike spokesperson Haley Bakker today. "It gave us enormous confidence. From that time forward, we looked at the Olympics as the ultimate testing ground for our athletes, our innovations, and our company." But did Benoit want a sneak peek of her mural? "Of course I was curious, but at the same time I was a little freaked," she says. "I already had plenty of pressure on me, and I didn't need more." Finally, her curiosity won out. "From the moment I first saw it, all the way through the marathon, I thought about that mural," she says. "I thought about the hopes and resources that Nike had invested in me. I didn't want to disappoint.

Beyond that, I thought about the work and sacrifice of countless women and men who had made my opportunity to run the Olympic Marathon possible. I was very conscious that I was part of history. That mural seemed a symbol for all of that." * * * At the start in Santa Monica, Benoit ignored traditional marathon race tactics--hold your place for 20 miles and race the final six; keep an eye on your rivals, let others lose energy by leading--and bolted to an early lead. From five to 10 miles, she goosed her pace from 5:30 to the 5:20s, opening a quarter-mile gap. At 19 miles, Waitz mounted a surge but failed to whittle Benoit's lead. Benoit felt a throb of weakness at mile 22, but maintained her rhythm. "Hey, you feel too good and you've been out here too long to let this one get away from you, so get back on it," Benoit told herself.

"If you don't, you'll never forgive yourself." "Joan pushed the envelope harder than Shorter or Salazar or any male marathoner you could name," says Kenny Moore , who finished fourth in the Munich '72 marathon and covered the L.A. '84 Games for Sports Illustrated. "Whether through smarts, courage, karma, luck, or all of the above, she got away with it." It was as if all the frustration and passion that female runners bottled up for decades finally found vent; Benoit gathered it and distilled it into a single race. "I don't think I was overly aggressive," she says. "I had a clear idea of what I wanted to accomplish. I knew that the race would be a matter of pace and strength rather than tactics and finishing speed. That's the way I trained, and that's the way I raced. If it didn't work out, I was prepared to live with the consequences." As Joan Benoit Samuelson won the first women's Olympic Marathon in 1984, silver medalist Grete Waitz had just more than 400 meters left to run.

Getty Images Benoit hadn't caught her rivals on an off day; the race turned out to be the fastest women's marathon ever up to that point. Prior to the Games, no more than two women had broken 2:30 at one race. On this day, nine women ran sub-2:30. Waitz's 2:26:18 silver-medal clocking was the fastest nonwinning performance ever. "I gave some thought to staying with Joan," Waitz (who died from cancer in 2011) told reporters after the race. "But I wasn't sure I wanted to go that fast. She gambled and won. I gambled and lost." Nearing the Coliseum, Benoit ran past the mural that had haunted and inspired her through the difficult summer. She entered the stadium more than a minute ahead of Waitz. "I was absolutely amazed that it was over and I'd had it so easy," Benoit told a reporter after the race. "Even the parts that I had dreaded, like the Marina Freeway (between miles 17 and 19), were fine. In fact, the freeway was where I felt the most at ease.

I was all by myself, without even any spectators. That's the thing that I'll tell the grandchildren, that I ran down an L.A. freeway all alone." Cute little Joanie with her adorable cap, winsome smile, and shuffling stride ran into the arena, into a blast of flag-waving adulation, circling the track once before finishing in 2:24:52. Worldwide, more than 2 billion people tuned in to these Olympics, many of whom saw a seemingly ordinary woman achieve something extraordinary." Like politics, sports are often as much about theater as substance, and success is often a matter of timing," says Abrahamson. "At the L.A. '84 marathon, Joan Benoit demonstrated an impeccable sense of both theater and timing." For distance running, the moment proved as transformative as Shorter's gold-medal marathon at Munich '72. The Olympics would never be the same. Running would never be the same. From Benoit's marathon forward, the obsessive, often self-immolating ethic governing the first running boom began to wither, and a new, more sustaining one took root. Women started to run in numbers that eventually exceeded men.

Participation became more important than victory, balance more important than excess. Elite American marathoning would decline. Paradoxically, the apostle of this new age was a marathoner who, during that painful, charmed summer of 1984, was every bit as driven as her male counterparts. Benoit logged another world-class season in 1985, setting a PR and an American record with a 2:21:21 victory at the Chicago Marathon . She continued to run marathons in the years afterward, but calmly accepted the limits that come with responsible parenthood. "I was never the same runner after I had kids," she says. "It was just impossible for me to bring the same level of commitment. I divide my running career into BC and AD periods: 'before children' and 'after diapers.' " That may be, but as a master's runner , Joanie is once again turning heads. At the 2008 Olympic Marathon Trials, at age 50, she ran a 2:49 and set a then-U.S.

record for the women's 50-plus age group; at this year's Boston Marathon, she ran a 2:52 at age 56. * * * Edwin Moses capitalized on his fame with lucrative sponsorships and backed it up in L.A. Getty Images On the evening of August 5, about eight and a half hours after Benoit thrillingly won gold in the women's marathon, a global TV audience tuned in to L.A. '84 for an event that seemed as certain as the sun setting into the nearby Pacific: Edwin Moses winning a gold medal in the 400-meter hurdles. Moses's 104-race winning streak had begun in the late-1970s, after he'd won gold in Montreal. He owned his event, Moses explains, because he owned his lane. "Every race, no matter the conditions, no matter how big or small the meet, that's all I saw," he says. "The lane I'd been assigned, with its 10 hurdles." He invariably took 13 steps between each hurdle, he says, covering 35 meters in about 4.6 seconds.

"Over the course of a race I would take no fewer than 151 steps, and no more than 153. The only variable would be the margin of victory." Although no mural of the hurdler blanketed a building near the Coliseum--he was sponsored by Adidas, not Nike--Moses was among the most highly visible, intensely marketed athletes at L.A. '84. That exposure was as much a product of meticulous planning and attention to detail as the exacting work that produced his remarkable winning streak. Back in 1976, when Moses won his gold medal in Montreal, an outdated amateur system still held sway in track and field. "There was this Avery Brundage--era mythology about the Olympics in general and track in particular," says Tom Tellez, the emeritus track-and-field coach at the University of Houston, who developed Carl Lewis. "The public was led to believe that Olympic-level track athletes were somehow different than professional baseball or football players, that they trained endless hours and endured hardships out of a selfless love for the sport and devotion to an ideal." Ironically, at the beginning of his athletic career, Moses embodied this ethos.

The son of a high-school principal in Dayton, Ohio, Moses, tall and bespectacled, was enamored with math and science. He ran the 180-yard low hurdles and 440-meter dash in high school, but eschewed pursuing an athletic scholarship elsewhere to attend Morehouse College in Atlanta to study physics and engineering. He couldn't stay away from racing long, though, growing fascinated by the 400-meter intermediate hurdles. Requiring equal parts speed, endurance, and technique, the event may be the most demanding in all of track and field. Moses approached the discipline with scientific rigor and an untapped reservoir of physical talent. Morehouse had neither a track team nor a track; the 20-year-old junior had to travel miles across the city of Atlanta to train--and just four months after picking up the sport, Moses won Olympic gold. After the '76 Games, he returned to Morehouse, earned his degree, and went to work as an engineer in the aerospace industry. He trained on the side, developing his craft, quietly building his winning streak.

In 1980, Moses almost certainly would have won a second gold medal in Moscow, and perhaps come home to score an endorsement deal. The boycott, however, denied him those opportunities. Moses continued to earn his living as an engineer and to practice his exacting, arcane sporting discipline as a form of "agonizing fun." Eventually, a glimmer of light shone on his financial horizon: L.A. '84. "The '84 Olympics were a complete turnaround from '76," Moses says. "'84 had great organization, and it was on American soil. Track-and-field athletes were finally able to take advantage of their economic opportunities [by setting up trust funds]. And that worked to the IOC's advantage, too. Coming out of Moscow, the IOC was essentially bankrupt. Going toward a pro model boosted the performance of the athletes and won back the public's interest." There was another, more prosaic reason for Moses's economic focus. "As an engineer for General Dynamics, I'd been working on the U.S. military's cruise missile program," he says. "But because I was competing overseas so often, including in Russia and Eastern Europe, the government took away my security clearance. Basically, I was out of a job.

Now I had to make some money from track and field." Compared to Moses, most U.S. Olympic distance runners had fewer income opportunities. In a way, that gave them less to worry about. "Out of the 201 guys who qualified to run the '84 U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials, only 10 to 12 of us were earning enough money through running to live on," says Pete Pfitzinger , who won the Marathon Trials and finished 11th (top American) in L.A. "But basically all of us trained equally hard. I was lucky to have New Balance sponsoring me. But even without that support, I wouldn't have missed the Trials. I would have been one of those guys slugging away for nothing." Moses, for his part, approached the business of hurdling as systematically and competently as he did the athletic endeavor. He hired an expert promotional team, including the business manager employed by NBA superstar Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Corporations such as Kodak signed the elegant, articulate Moses to lucrative endorsement deals.

"A 1983 article in the Los Angeles Times added up all my income and concluded that I made around $900,000 a year," Moses says. "That was in the ballpark of the salaries earned by [NFL quarterbacks] John Elway and Dan Marino at the time. Imagine, I made that much for running the hurdles! Today, how much does a third-string NFL quarterback make? Professional track and field just hasn't kept up." Edwin Moses dominated the 400 hurdles, winning his 105th straight race in the final. Getty Images Now, on the evening of August 5, Moses stepped into the starting blocks. Over the next 47-odd seconds, his sponsors expected him to reward their investment. The world expected him to extend his winning streak to 105. Moses coped with the pressure by hewing to routine. "I stayed home in Laguna Hills [about 50 miles southeast of Los Angeles] until the last minute before the finals," he says. "I needed to keep away from the hype and distractions. In those days all the major media had at least two or three reporters covering track.

Everybody wanted a photo shoot, and everybody wanted an exclusive." The track, Moses explains, offered him a refuge. "Once I was in my lane, I didn't think about my streak, and I didn't think about my competition," he says. "All I thought about was 10 hurdles, and 13 steps between each one. I dealt with pressure by simplifying. Everything I did was very rational and consistent. I guess that's the benefit of being a rocket scientist." He drew lane six for the Olympic finals: not optimal, but better than the outside lane he drew for the finals at the U.S. Trials. Most hurdlers prefer to run in a middle lane, where they can better see their competitors. But Moses, as attuned to his event as Picasso was attuned to the color blue, wasn't like other hurdlers. After a false start occasioned by the click of a trackside camera, Moses broke cleanly from the blocks. Eighty-five-thousand people in the Coliseum, and perhaps 2 billion watching on TV, focused on one man as he circled the track. By the fifth hurdle, step 65, Moses had taken control of the race.

Due to the staggered start, however, only the most knowledgeable track fans knew this for certain; the rest of us took it on faith in this phenomenally consistent athlete. Hitting the home stretch around step 100, the point where the staggered lanes even out, Moses's inevitable victory became clear to the world. He crossed the line in 47.75, win number 105 and counting, an event as simultaneously commonplace and wondrous as a Pacific sunset. * * * Although 30 years have passed since he launched his terrific, and terrifically misunderstood, gold-medal-winning long jump at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympic Games, Carl Lewis often feels as if he made the leap yesterday. "Not a week goes by when somebody doesn't come up to me and start talking about L.A. '84," Lewis says. "People introduce me to their kids, and now their grandkids. A whole new generation is learning the history of those Games." He laughs. "It's almost frightening." Lewis turned 23 shortly before the Games opened. "I was just so young," he says.

"I didn't fully realize how much I was taking on--going for four gold medals, trying to match the achievements of an icon like Jesse Owens. What was I thinking? But if I had known better, I might not have dared to aim so high." Indeed, Lewis and his team were sailing uncharted waters. "We knew that Jesse Owens had won those four gold medals, but we didn't know how he had done it," says Tellez. "There was no blueprint for what Carl was trying to accomplish--on the track or off of it." The off-track pressure proved more challenging than the actual running and jumping. "Before 1984, if you won an Olympic gold medal, you might come home and get your picture on a Wheaties box," Lewis says. "But starting in January of '84, it felt like I was on the cover of a national magazine every month. I would go down to the corner grocery, glance at the newsstand, and there would be my picture on Sports Illustrated or Time. It was very weird for me. The media attention I had to deal with was unprecedented." But in another way, the spotlight also seemed to suit Lewis.

"During his freshman year, Carl came into my office and told me he wanted to be a millionaire and never have a real job," says Tellez, who coached Lewis at the University of Houston and throughout the athlete's 18-year career. "He told me he wanted to get rich from track and field. Knowing Carl, and his devotion to the sport, I never doubted he'd attain his goal." The devotion started early. Lewis's parents were both track coaches in New Jersey. He grew up playing in the sand of the long-jump pits, and practiced approach-steps and block-starts the way other kids practiced lay-ups and corner kicks. "Carl truly and deeply loved track and field," Tellez says. "He loved it the way kids today love basketball or soccer." As a high school sophomore, Lewis did a 22' 5" long jump. At Houston, he notched NCAA indoor and outdoor titles in the long jump his freshman year, and earned a spot on the 1980 Olympic team. "Carl might not have won gold in Moscow," says Tellez, "but I'm sure he would've medaled. Carl was who he was early. I didn't have to tell him anything twice.

He would say to me, 'Coach, I want to be the best I can be.' " After winning a national title in the 100 meters in 1981, Lewis, still only 19, began to stalk Owens. "We used the '83 World Championships in Helsinki as a test run for the '84 Olympic Trials," Lewis says. "I won the 100, long jump, and ran on the winning 4 x 100 relay team. After that, I set my sights on winning four gold medals in Los Angeles. That's also when the media pressure started to build." Lewis was fully aware that the eyes of the world were on him. "I was very conscious of building my brand," Lewis says. "I dressed well and had a razor-top hair-cut. I went to the Grammys. I was proud to be a professional athlete and talked openly about developing the sport along professional lines. Combined with my success at a young age, that rubbed some people the wrong way. Every move I made was scrutinized. I lifted my hands above my head after winning the 100 at the nationals, and some people said I was showing off.

I was just being myself and trying to promote the sport. What was the big deal?" Moreover, at L.A. '84, Lewis was competing against two legends. Before the Games, Bob Beamon appeared in a TV commercial, encouraging Lewis--"I hope you make it, kid"--to go ahead and break Beamon's legendary 29' 2.5" long jump record, set at the Mexico City '68 Games, which Lewis had been threatening with several recent 28-foot jumps. The public thus expected Lewis to match Owens and surpass Beamon, and to do so with the grace and humility that traditionally characterized Olympic champions. Lewis did his best to live up to these impossibly high expectations. He accommodated almost every interview request, often talking to reporters who had no background in track. Joe Douglas, coach of the Santa Monica Track Club, served as Lewis's business advisor and media liaison. During a major pre-Games media conference, Douglas said that Lewis would soon be "bigger than Michael Jackson." Douglas insisted that he'd been misquoted, but the damage was done. "People got the wrong idea about Carl," Tellez says. "They thought he was this arrogant, money-hungry, Hollywood-type guy.

But all he really wanted to do was run and jump. He wanted to make his fans happy, just like the sport had made him happy." Edwin Moses voices a similar opinion. "Carl and I both talked about money and professionalism," Moses says. "I made it clear that opportunities should be extended to all athletes. Carl was often perceived as only being in it for himself." On the evening of August 4, Lewis punched the first of his four gold-medal tickets, easing away from his rivals at the midpoint of the 100 meters, seeming to flow across the finish line more than sprint. "Other sprinters came out of the blocks faster than Carl, but he never got flustered, never lost that flawless form," says Moore. "He trusted that he had the time and gift to draw even and pass, and his trust was always rewarded." After his 100-meter victory, Lewis danced a victory lap, waving one of the ubiquitous American flags. "Lewis's reaction seemed to be structured, not spontaneous," Dave Anderson of The New York Times wrote about the gesture. Perhaps Anderson criticized the flag-waving because the sprinting had been flawless. "That's another reason why the public never quite took to Carl," Tellez says.

"He always made winning look so easy." Carl Lewis failed to break Bob Beamon's record in the long jump. Getty Images Now, on a luminous L.A. evening, with the afternoon heat dissipating, shadows deepening over the infield, and the TV lights casting the athletes in a sort of two-dimensional DayGlo glare, the long jump finals began. As Lewis prepared to take his first jump, fans were still settling into their seats at the Coliseum, and in front of TV sets at home. As he had in the 100 meters, Lewis made the sublime look effortless. He flowed down the runway, soared off the board, and landed 28 feet and 1/4 inch from where he'd taken off. It was a superb jump, but more than a foot short of Beamon's record. Lewis still had five more attempts, however, which should have been good for a full evening of entertainment. But the show was already over. "For an entire year, we trained for Carl to win the competition on his first jump," Tellez explains. "More attempts would've taken too much out of him.

Most people don't realize how much effort goes into a competitive long jump, or how high the risk is for injury. Carl still had all those heats in the 200 and relay to run. If he was going to win four gold medals, then Carl had to win on the first jump." The other athletes were struggling to reach 27 feet. Lewis did jump in the second round, but fouled. After that, Tellez made him pass on his remaining four attempts. Swaddled in warmups, pacing the infield, Lewis spent the rest of the evening as a seemingly aloof spectator. Before long, instead of the cheers he had earned, boos drifted down from the disappointed crowd. Today, Lewis takes partial responsibility for the fan reaction. "We should have done a better job of educating the public about the long jump," he says. "Before the competition started, the fans should have known what might happen. We could have used a basketball analogy. When a team is up by 20 points with five minutes left in the game, the coach is going to take out his starters." At the time, however, Lewis was stung by the response. "I didn't understand how there could be such animosity," he says.

"I was doing everything I could to win four gold medals for the USA." More disturbingly, Lewis felt set up by his sport's governing body. "U.S. Track and Field should have done a better job supporting me," he says. "I felt the organization deliberately left me out there on my own. I was just a young kid, and here I was setting world records, trying to match Jesse Owens, and threatening the status quo by talking about money and professionalism. There was also envy and jealously coming from my fellow athletes. At the L.A. Olympics, I fought for people who ended up stabbing me in the back." "The fans didn't understand," Tellez laments. "Passing on his later jumps wasn't Carl's decision. It was my decision." But the world wasn't watching a coach. Forced to choose between chasing Owens or Beamon, Lewis chose to pursue Owens. After claiming gold in the long jump, Lewis won the 200 meters, and then ran the anchor leg on the U.S. men's 4 x 100 gold medal-winning relay team, thus matching Owens's medal count.

Unlike the hero of the '36 Games, however, Lewis failed to win the hearts of his countrymen. Lewis made history by winning four golds, matching Jesse Owens's 1936 haul. AFP /Getty Images "One of the disgraces of American civilization," Moore says with only a touch of hyperbole, "is that we never quite gave Carl Lewis his due." For his part, Lewis remains philosophical about L.A. '84. "When I look back, I don't remember the boos during the long jump, or any of the other craziness," he says. "I remember staying in a house with my family, and the fact that my father was able to see me compete in an Olympics before he died. I remember my teammates lifting me in their arms after we won the gold medal in the 4 x 100 relay. I remember how the organizers succeeded in making the Games into a spectacle that everybody could enjoy. L.A. '84 brought women fully into the Olympic experience, and it brought in families.

I remember the Los Angeles Games as a special, amazing time." Lewis competed in three subsequent Olympics, winning a total of nine gold medals and one silver, a haul matched or bettered by only two other track-and-field athletes--Paavo Nurmi, who earned 12 in the 1920s, and Ray Ewry, who won 10 (all golds) in the early 1900s. At age 35, Lewis capped his superlative career by winning the long jump at the '96 Atlanta Games. Since his retirement from competition, Lewis has turned his hand to pursuits ranging from singing to business to politics to charity. Finally, this past year, leading up to the 30th anniversary of his triumph at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympic Games, he went to work for his alma mater, the University of Houston, as a volunteer assistant coach for the track-and-field team. "I never stopped loving running and jumping," Lewis says. "I feel privileged to pass on some of what I've learned." * * * On the surface, for American fans, the men's marathon at L.A. '84 appeared to be an anticlimactic flop.

The race served as the grand finale, not just for the track-and-field competition, but for the entire Games; on the evening of August 12, when the marathon concluded inside the Coliseum, the closing ceremony would begin. Just as Joan Benoit had been the first female marathoner to emerge into the stadium a week earlier, Americans hoped and expected to see her countryman, Alberto Salazar, arrive as the winner of the men's race. From 1980 through 1982 he had won three consecutive New York City Marathons , logging a fastest-ever 2:08:13 at the '81 race. Given Benoit's victory, the river of gold medals that had flowed from American runners, jumpers, and throwers, and the triumph of the Games in general, a Salazar win seemed only fitting. But Salazar's years of obsessive overtraining had blown out his immune system. Battling chronic fatigue and respiratory ailments, he had finished a flat, disappointing second to Pete Pfitzinger at the U.S. Marathon Trials and arrived at L.A. '84 as a shell of his former, record-setting self.

"Up until the gun went off, I hoped that I could somehow pull off one more great race, but magic didn't happen," Salazar says. "I wanted that gold medal more than anything. I had dreamed about it for years." Instead of Salazar, Carlos Lopes of Portugal ran into the stadium to claim the gold medal and to ring down the Games. Salazar finished an exhausted 15th, four places behind his teammate Pfitzinger. There were other disappointments for the U.S. team, of course, including Mary Decker's historic tangle with Zola Budd . And not all the triumphs were recorded by the home team: Sebastian Coe of Great Britain became the first athlete to win consecutive gold in the 1500 meters; 21-year-old Brazilian Joaquim Cruz took the 800 meters in commanding style; and Daley Thompson, the British decathlon gold medalist in Moscow, successfully defended his title. Mary Decker's fiancé, Richard Slaney, escorts her from the track after her infamous tumble. Getty Images But you could argue that in many ways, L.A. '84 formed the high-water mark for Olympic-level U.S. track and field.

If track was ever to regain the popularity among mainstream sports fans that it enjoyed through the 1960s, the Los Angeles Games would have been the moment. Instead, despite all the spectacular performances, track and field declined into a niche sport. In its coverage of the 2012 London Games, for instance, NBC devoted 42 hours of prime-time coverage to gymnastics, 57 to swimming and diving, and just 36 to track and field. On the other hand, from a competitive perspective, the Los Angeles Games ignited a renaissance: Since '84, the U.S. has won more Olympic track-and-field medals than any other nation. At American high schools, participation in the sport has never been higher. And track's sister sport of distance running, of course, continues to thrive. Perhaps the ultimate measure of L.A. '84's success is that Los Angeles hungers to host the party again. Work is in full swing to bring the 2024 Summer Games back to Southern California, and organizers talk about transforming the main stage of those unforgettable '84 Games into a state-of-the-art centerpiece. The Coliseum awaits, with all its ghosts, and in all its full-color glory.

Jesse Owens wins 4 gold medals at 1936 Summer Olympics | World History Project Aug 3 1936 to Aug 9 1936 Jesse Owens wins 4 gold medals at 1936 Summer Olympics In 1936, Owens arrived in Berlin to compete for the United States in the Summer Olympics. Adolf Hitler was using the games to show the world a resurgent Nazi Germany. He and other government officials had high hopes German athletes would dominate the games with victories (the German athletes achieved a top of the table medal haul). Meanwhile, Nazi propaganda promoted concepts of "Aryan racial superiority" and depicted ethnic Africans as inferior.

Owens surprised many and showed the fallacies of racial supremacy by winning four gold medals: On August 3, 1936 he won the 100m sprint, defeating Ralph Metcalfe; on August 4, the long jump (later crediting friendly and helpful advice from Luz Long, the German competitor he ultimately defeated); on August 5, the 200m sprint; and, after he was added to the 4 x 100 m relay team, his fourth on August 9 (a performance not equaled until Carl Lewis won gold medals in the same events at the 1984 Summer Olympics). Just before the competitions Owens was visited in the Olympic village by Adi Dassler, the founder of Adidas. He persuaded Owens to use Adidas shoes and it was the first sponsorship for a male African-American athlete. The long jump victory is documented, along with many other 1936 events, in the 1938 film Olympia by Leni Riefenstahl. On the first day, Hitler shook hands only with the German victors and then left the stadium. Olympic committee officials then insisted Hitler greet each and every medalist or none at all.

Hitler opted for the latter and skipped all further medal presentations. On reports that Hitler had deliberately avoided acknowledging his victories, and had refused to shake his hand, Owens recounted: "When I passed the Chancellor he arose, waved his hand at me, and I waved back at him. I think the writers showed bad taste in criticizing the man of the hour in Germany."" He also stated: "Hitler didn't snub me—it was FDR who snubbed me. The president didn't even send me a telegram." Jesse Owens was never invited to the White House nor bestowed any honors by Presidents Franklin D. Roosevelt (FDR) or Harry S. Truman during their terms. In 1955, President Dwight D. Eisenhower acknowledged Owens's accomplishments, naming him an "Ambassador of Sports." Hitler's contempt for Owens and for those races he deemed 'inferior' arose in private, away from maintaining Olympic neutrality.

As Albert Speer, Hitler's architect and later war armaments minister recollected in his memoirs Inside the Third Reich: "Each of the German victories and there were a surprising number of these made him happy, but he was highly annoyed by the series of triumphs by the marvelous colored American runner, Jesse Owens. People whose antecedents came from the jungle were primitive, Hitler said with a shrug; their physiques were stronger than those of civilized whites and hence should be excluded from future games. Despite Hitler's feelings, Owens was cheered enthusiastically by 110,000 people in Berlin's Olympic Stadium and later ordinary Germans sought his autograph when they saw him in the streets. Owens was allowed to travel with and stay in the same hotels as whites, an irony at the time given that blacks in the United States were denied equal rights. After a New York ticker-tape parade in his honor, Owens had to ride the freight elevator to attend his own reception at the Waldorf-Astoria. Source: Wikipedia Added by: Kevin Rogers It was the summer of 1936 and Nazism was running rampant throughout pre-World War II Eastern Europe.

The Olympics were coming to Berlin and Adolf Hitler viewed it as a golden opportunity to showcase his country and prove to the rest of the world that his Aryan race was superior. Not so fast, Adolf. Twenty-two-year-old American Jesse Owens didn't care much for Hitler's politics—or any politics for that matter. He just wanted to show off his immense skills and represent his country to the best of his abilities. Just over a year earlier, on May 25, 1935, Owens recorded one of the more mind-boggling performances in track and field history. He broke three world records and tied another at the Big Ten Track and Field Championships in Michigan—in just 45 minutes! Hitler viewed African-Americans as inferior and chastised the United States for stooping to use these "non-humans." Despite the endless racial epithets and the constant presence of the red and black swastika, Owens made Hitler eat his words with four gold medals. Owens Hits Gold The first gold was in the 100 meters, where Owens edged out teammate Ralph Metcalfe in a time of 10.3 seconds. Gold number two came in the long jump, where he fouled on his first two attempts.

One was just a practice run where he continued down the runway into the pit, but German officials didn't buy it and counted it as a jump. Top German long jumper Luz Long suggested Owens play it safe and jump a few inches before the usual take-off spot. He took his advice and qualified for the finals, where he won the gold with a leap of 26—5½. And Long was there to congratulate him. "It took a lot of courage for him to befriend me in front of Hitler," Owens would later say. "You can melt down all the medals and cups I have and they wouldn't be a plating on the 24-karat friendship I felt for Luz Long at that moment." The third gold was in the 200-meter dash, where he defeated, among others, Jackie Robinson's older brother Mack and broke the Olympic record with a time of 20.7 seconds. Gold number four was a controversial one—not with the Germans, but with his fellow Americans. American Jews Marty Glickman and Sam Stoller were supposed to run for the United States on the 4x100 relay team.

At the last minute, they were replaced by Owens and Metcalfe and it was reported that Hitler asked U.S. officials not to embarrass him any further by having two Jews win gold in Berlin. Whether that's true or not, the Owens-led U.S. team rolled to victory in a world record time of 39.8 seconds and Owens' magical Olympics came to a close. While German officials denounced Owens, an overwhelming majority of the German fans treated him like a hero. In 1984, a street in Berlin was named in his honor. Source: Mike Morrison Added by: Kevin Rogers The Berlin Olympics of 1936 were held in Adolf Hitler's Nazi Germany, and Hitler's Nazi Party used the event as a soapbox to promulgate the theory of "Aryan" racial superiority. Hitler was spectacularly shown up by Jesse Owens and other African American athletes, members of a so-called "inferior" race. Despite the hostile atmosphere, Owens triumphed in the 100-meter dash, the 200-meter dash and the broad jump. He replaced a Jewish-American member of the 400-meter relay team that went on to win the Gold Medal.

In three of his events, Owens -- who became the first American in the history of track and field to win four gold medals in a single Olympics, a feat not duplicated until 1984, when Carl Lewis won gold medals in the same events at the Warsaw Pact nations-free 1984 Summer Olympics) -- established Olympic records. Although Hitler did not shake his hand, by the end of the games, the German fans cheered for him. In fact, in his 1970 autobiography "The Jesse Owens Story", Owens claimed that the Fuhrer himself waved to him. Carl Lewis Biography - life, family, children, parents, school, mother, young, son, information, born Carl Lewis Biography Birmingham, Alabama African American track and field athlete One of track and field's greatest performers, Carl Lewis in 1984 became the first African American athlete since Jesse Owens (1913–1980) in 1936 to win four gold medals in Olympic competition. He won nine gold medals in four straight Olympics. A lifetime of dedication Born on July 1, 1961, in Birmingham, Alabama, Frederick Carlton Lewis is the son of two star athletes who attended Tuskegee Institute.

His father, Bill, ran track and played football; his mother, Evelyn, was a world-class hurdler (a runner who jumps over a series of hurdles) who represented the United States at the 1951 Pan-American Games. By the time Carl, the third of four children, was born, his parents were coaching young athletes in track and field events. When Carl was still young, his family moved to Willingboro, New Jersey. There his parents worked as high school teachers and founded the Willingboro Track Club. Lewis was not as talented as his brothers and sister, and his parents encouraged him to pursue music lessons instead. He kept working and practicing the long jump in his back yard, determined to improve. Small and skinny, Lewis competed in track meets, losing far more than he won. Still, his dedication and confidence caught the eye of Jesse Owens himself at a meet in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Owens urged other children to follow the example of the "spunky little guy." When he graduated from Willingboro High School in 1979, Lewis was the top-ranked high school track athlete in the country. Continues to improve In 1979 Lewis entered the University of Houston (Texas) on an athletic scholarship.

He worked with coach Tom Tellez, who suggested improvements in Lewis's style of jumping. After just one year of college Lewis qualified for the 1980 Olympic team, only to see opportunity pass him by when former President Jimmy Carter (1924–) cancelled Carl Lewis. AP/Wide World Photos . the United States' participation in the Games in protest of the Soviet Union's invasion of Afghanistan. Lewis kept his top national ranking in the long jump and the 100-meter dash at the 1981 National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) indoor championships. He was the first athlete to win two events at an NCAA championship. In 1982 Lewis left the University of Houston to work at the Santa Monica Track Club in California. Coach Tellez continued to work closely with him. By 1983 Lewis had become a winner in four categories: long jump, 100-meter run, 200-meter run, and 400-meter relay. He won three gold medals at the track and field world championships in Helsinki, Finland, in 1983. During the early months of 1984 he set an indoor world record in the long jump.

It appeared Lewis would return from the twenty-third Olympics covered with gold medals. Backs up predictions Lewis's announcement that he would win four events in Los Angeles, California, in the 1984 Summer Olympics was viewed by many as arrogant, but he backed up his talk. He won the 100-meter sprint with a time of 9.99 seconds. His long jump effort of twenty-eight feet earned him a second gold. For his third, Lewis set an Olympic record with a 19.8-second run in the 200-meter race. Finally, he led the 400-meter relay team to an Olympic record victory at 37.83 seconds. Rather than being praised, Lewis was mocked by writers as "King Carl" for his brash predictions and for showing up late to press conferences. An endorsement contract (agreement to promote a company's products in return for money) with Nike was cancelled, and Lewis received no others in the United States, although in Europe and Japan he became a hero. Lewis continued to participate in indoor and outdoor track meets.

In 1985 Canadian sprinter Ben Johnson (1961–) arrived on the scene, and he began to beat Lewis regularly in the 100-meter sprint. At the 1988 Olympic Games in Seoul, South Korea, Lewis ran second to Johnson, who won the 100-meter event in record time. Lewis was awarded the gold medal soon afterward when Johnson was found to have used steroids (illegal substances that improve athletic performance). Lewis earned a second gold in Seoul for the long jump, but his continued success did little to improve his popularity. Worse, Lewis himself was charged with steroid use by a former opponent. Lewis denied the charges and sued the magazine in which they were published; he also agreed to submit to drug tests after races. Lewis has never been linked to drug use by anything but rumor. Finally accepted By 1992 Lewis had won eight world championship gold medals and had owned the long jump for ten years. Age began to take its toll on him, however. He watched Mike Powell break Bob Beamon's outdoor long jump world record at the 1991 world championships in Tokyo, Japan. Lewis made four personal best jumps at the same meet but still could not beat Powell.

At the 1992 Olympic trials, Lewis failed to make the cut for the 100-meter and 200-meter sprints. He did qualify for the long jump and the 400-meter relay, and a week later he discovered that he had been suffering from a sinus (a cavity in the skull connected to the nostrils) infection. Lewis experienced something at the 1992 Olympic trials that he had never received—total acceptance from an American crowd. He was given a standing ovation in New Orleans, Louisiana, as his second-place finish in the long jump qualified him for an Olympic berth. The admiration of fans came showering down in Barcelona, Spain, in 1992, when Lewis beat Powell in the long jump to earn his seventh gold medal and then anchored the 400-meter relay for his eighth. One more time Following the 1992 Olympics, Lewis's performance began to decline, and by 1995 he was being beaten regularly by younger athletes. Still, Lewis participated in the 1996 Olympic trials and won a chance to compete in the long jump at the games in Atlanta, Georgia. He easily won his fourth straight gold in the event.

With endorsement contracts from Panasonic, among others, and large personal appearance fees, he became a wealthy man and considered running for political office in Houston, Texas. In 1999 Lewis was named one of the century's greatest athletes at the Sports Illustrated 20th Century Sports Awards ceremony. In 2000 he said he still felt he could compete at the Olympic trials but would not do so until the problem of athletes using drugs was addressed. He still attended the games in Sydney, Australia, participating in a ceremony to honor the McDonald's Olympic Achievers, young people from around the world chosen for their success in school-work, athletics, and community service. In December 2001 Lewis was elected to the National Track and Field Hall of Fame. He also tried acting, appearing in the 2002 television movie Atomic Twister. Eight of Lewis's Olympic gold medals are still in his possession. The ninth—his first, for the 100-meter sprint—was buried with his father Bill in May of 1988. "My father was most proud of the 100," Lewis revealed in the Philadelphia Daily News.

"More than anything, he wanted me to win that medal.… Now he has it and he'll always have it." For More Information

Question: What American track athlete won 4 gold medals in 1984?
Answer: Carl Lewis