Tom Longboat
Joseph Noble, first athlete from left, the little guy in black sneakers
According to my Uncle Cecil, his father (my grandfather) crossed paths with Longboat at the "Y," where they raced against each other on a short meter track. My grandfather was fast, but not fast enough to beat Longboat, who went on to win the Boston Marathon in 1907 and represent Canada in the Olympics—the first native to do so—at the Fourth Olympiad in London, England in the summer of '08. When I was in Ottawa for a family reunion a few years ago, I visited the offices of the Canadian Olympic Assoc. where I riffled through files, and came across Longboat's name among twenty-two competitors. There were two presiding officials and seven categories that year: Athletics, Wrestling, Fencing, Shooting, Clay Pigeon, Cycling, and Swimming and Diving.
Longboat followed a "hard, easy and recovery day" mode of training, but sports promoters and the press considered him "lazy." Today, long distance racers follow this model. Too bad for Tom Longboat. As an Indian alone in a competitive field, he was taken advantage of, sold off to different trainers-promoters, and eventually quit running. His last job was on a garbage truck in Toronto. He retired to the Sixth Nations Reserve, where he died in 1949.
Although Longboat died destitute and out of favor, Canadians remember him today as the greatest marathon runner of his time. The Tom Longboat Award, sponsored in conjunction with the University of Toronto and the Longboat Roadrunners, is given yearly to an aboriginal student long-distance runner, and the Longboat Island 10k Run is held on Toronto Island every September.
Tom Longboat, 1887-1949
~~~
Most readers love Bill Plaschke, the sports columnist for the LA Times, I mean really love the guy. But today he stepped over my sentimentality line when he wrote "Wrapped in the flag of his family," about snow boarder and gold medalist Seth Wescott, and the American flag that means so much to his family. "In this game," Plaschke wrote, "that is the measure of a champion, the guy who can win with snow on his butt and a lump in his throat." Yuck. How do sports writers get away with this sugary drivel? Any other journalist would be handed one last cigarette and shot at dawn.
Really interesting story, Charlotte. Love that photo of your grandfather looking so proud and elegant.
ReplyDelete