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In a sport that attracts natural show-offs, Barbara Ann is full of inhibitions. She has a whole wardrobe of plain & fancy costumes, but only one gold-spangled one, which she refers to as her "white horse" outfit. When she wears it, she says, "I feel as if I ought to be riding in a circus."
Smiles & Spins. Like Sonja Henie, Barbara Ann does not jump higher or skate more daringly than her rivals. She just does it better. In Prague two weeks ago, with her European championship at stake, whatever she tried—from difficult double Salchows to simple open Choctaws—was carefully and beautifully done. She ended her free skating with a spin, her arms at her sides, whirling faster, then slower, then faster again, then stopping suddenly. (She is the world's best spinner.) Curtsying to the judges—the youngest 50, the oldest 71—she skated quickly to the boards.
The other girls were panting as they left the ice. The smile that had been fixed on their faces disappeared as quickly as a chorus girl's. Barbara Ann was not winded, nor was her smile switched off. It vanished slowly and was replaced by a tiny frown as she strained to read on the Scoreboard what marks the judges gave her. All seven marked her between five (very good) and six (faultless). Then, instead of hurrying off to her dressing room, she sat and applauded those who performed after her. All her life, she had been taught to be a little lady.
When the final results went up, she had beaten four national champions (from England, Austria, Czechoslovakia and Hungary)—practically everybody she has to beat for the Olympic crown except Boston's golden-haired Gretchen Merrill, U.S. champion, who did not compete at Prague.
Barbara Ann is generally liked by the other girl skaters, but their liking carries a tinge of reserve. After all, she is the champion, and as such the object of envy. They suspect, too, that underlying her good nature, ready smile and ladylike disposition is a certain basic quality of toughness that every real champion has to have—even when the champion is a little lady. Whenever anyone tries to compare her, the first two words that come out of his mouth are "Sonja Henie."
Fire v. Femininity. Right now (with Barbara Ann 19, Sonja crowding 35), Sonja would be no match for Barbara Ann. If both champions were 19, the contest would be a thriller of fire v. femininity—and the betting about even money. Sonja's school figures were near perfection. Her skate seemed to cut deeper into the ice than Barbara Ann's, due probably to her weight: Sonja was a butterball in her Olympic days.* Unlike Barbara Ann, who averages eight hours a day practicing, Sonja never practiced more than three. "I'd go simply nuts," she once said. Barbara Ann's school figures, skated with less effort and more tidiness, are as perfect as anybody's ever were.