Like corpses in a morgue, track-&-field stars lay sprawled on benches in the locker room. They were trying to relax before the big test: the two-day tryouts to pick the three athletes in each event to "make the boat" for the XIV Olympiad. Making the boat (the S.S. America) for London this week didn't depend on how many world's records a man had set already; under the ironclad Olympic rules, the only thing that mattered now was how he did in Northwestern University's Dyche Stadium.
First Down. One of the mighty had already fallen: Miler Gil Dodds, Boston's Flying Parson, who had won 37 straight, but was out of the trials with a strained Achilles tendon in his left foot. He was off the team—but still far & away the best U.S. miler. After Dodds, the U.S. sure shots, everybody agreed, were Negro Shot-Putter Chuck Fonville of Michigan, Sprinter Mel Patton of Southern California, and Negro High-Hurdler Harrison Dillard of Baldwin-Wallace. Each, in the past year, has broken a world's record.
First athlete to make the boat was slim Martin Biles, an ex-Army pilot who hurled his steel-tipped javelin 225 ft. 9 in. (the world's record, held by a Finn: 258 ft. 2f in.). In the twilight, before 20,000 cheering fans, Biles climbed up to the top step of the victors' pyramid, flanked by the two runners-up on lower steps, and was ceremoniously presented as a member of the Olympic squad.
Second Down. In the shot-put, five of the six finalists did better than the Olympic record of 53 ft. if in. But the great Fonville, bothered by a wrenched back, finished fourth—off the squad. In first place was San Francisco's solemn, burly, Francis Delaney, who used to put the shot for Notre Dame, and bettered the existing Olympic record by two feet.
Third Down. For the 100-meter dash, the crowd's favorite event, Mel Patton ("the world's fastest human") wore a pair of brand-new spikes; his old shoes had gotten wet and fallen apart. Patton got off to a slow start, along with Dillard, who was hoping to qualify in two events (dash and hurdles). Ancient (30), competition-wise Barney Ewell, a Negro foundry-worker and a father, whom nobody had given much of a chance to win, made a flying start, pumped furiously with knees high for the first 60 yards, then relaxed a bit as if waiting for Patton and Dillard to catch up. He finished nearly two yards out front, equaling the world's record (10.2) set by Jesse Owens in 1936. Patton barely edged Dillard for second place.
After this astonishing upset, Barney slouched toward the pyramid in a dirty sweat suit. Not until he stepped down from the perch did the old Penn State star come to life. Then he danced a jig and sang: "Piccadilly Alley, here I come . . . La, la, la, la ... Come on, Dillard, let's take a shower. We're going to London."