(4 of 4)
"How soon can we be married?" they asked the clerk, who shrugged: "Why not now?" Parry and Sandra looked at each other—and were married. After a fourday honeymoon, Parry was off once more, this time to tour Central and South America for the State Department.
Secret of the Universe. Back in the U.S. at last, Parry reported in to Travis Air Force Base, near Sacramento. But neither married life (sans children) nor the Air Force itself was going to interfere with his quest for the supreme shotput. "They acted like they felt I could work out satisfactorily from 12 midnight to 8 in the morning," he recalls with indignation. "So I wrote to Washington and got transferred over to Special Services." There Parry's job was to arrange movies at the base theater—a task only slightly more complicated than taking care of the U.S.C. shotput ring.
The long grind has not been easy, but Parry O'Brien, for one, is sure it has been worth the effort. He has made himself into the best shotputter in the world. Few men in Melbourne this week are really close, and his toughest competition will come from his own teammates, Ken Bantum (the only man to beat O'Brien in competition in the last four years) and Bill Nieder. Both have the physical potential some day to surpass Parry's mark. But it is doubtful that either man has the stom ach for Parry's solitary practice, not to mention willingness to gulp honey-andwheat-germ cocktails and pay the infinite, microscopic attention to the details of shotputting, as if somewhere within them lies the secret of the universe.
Even Parry admits that little of it has been fun. But he has come a long way from the pudgy youngster playing on the muscle beaches of Santa Monica. "He could have been anything he wanted," insists Parry Sr. "He has more determination than four mules." As the time approaches to put away the iron ball and heft the more difficult load of earning a living, both father and son are as sure that Parry Jr. will succeed in business as they were that he would eventually heave the shot past 60 ft.
For the moment, though, it is enough that now he can walk down a strange street in a strange city on the underside of the world and compete again for the biggest possible prize. It is enough for a young man of 24 to know that his achievements can mean something as long as Olympic games are held, as long as youngsters anywhere, from the steppes of Russia to the African veld, strive to run faster, throw farther, jump higher than anyone else in the world.